


The Nightmare Solution

by tronjolras



Series: The Leona K. Yarro Adventures [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hacker Spock?, I write female ocs and then I fall in love with them, Kidfic, M/M, Medical Mystery, Mom of the year Winona Kirk, Murder Mystery, Original Aliens - Freeform, Sherlock Spock, Thats how it works, almost forgot that one, and every woman of a certain age has a crush on Bones, old married spirk, secret bffs Bones and Spock, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tronjolras/pseuds/tronjolras
Summary: Tasked with taking a delegation of rebel planets to a treaty signing, Jim thinks theEnterprise's first mission since he and Spock adopted the gifted Betazoid child, Leona Yarro, should be a piece of cake. Spock knows better.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: The Leona K. Yarro Adventures [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589794
Comments: 30
Kudos: 48





	1. "Riverside"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back y'all!

Were he poetic, Spock might have compared this short period of their lives to a frozen hourglass. An hourglass because this suspension of time felt precarious: a momentary interruption in two two-decades’ long Starfleet careers for the longest leave either of them had ever taken. They were, poetically, both a granule of sand released from one chamber to hurtle into another, but strangely stopped in the thin channel between, alone, and for the first time, free from the pressures above and beneath. Frozen because that was what the world was in Iowa in December. 

Spock had always wanted to be poetic, but he was not.

This morning, as was his custom, Spock woke in the blue pre-dawn to begin his morning meditation and slipped carefully out of bed. As was _his_ custom, Jim grunted and rolled over, opened one eye, and issued a drowsy “Morning, hon,” before falling back asleep. It seemed that no matter how Spock altered his technique, he still risked a sixty-eight and twenty-seven hundredths percent chance of waking Jim up when he left their bed early in the morning. That number had jumped three and nine tenths percent since Jim established his mental bond with the child, Leona Yarro—Leo was a “light sleeper,” a trait which Jim seemed to have adopted as well. Of course, Spock predicted that the probability would continue to increase in the future, but at the moment, he only had forty-seven mornings of data to calculate.

Spock’s socked feet found the knotty wood floorboards beneath the bed and he stole quickly across the room to a worn rag-rug and cushion that had become his meditation area in the farmhouse. Before he sat, he pulled on a thick wool sweater and wrapped a crocheted blanket around his shoulders. Frozen indeed. 

He lit an aromatic candle for both mental guidance and warmth and back on the bed, he could see Jim’s now illuminated lips relax upward into a peaceful smile that made everything seem to glow. 

From where he sat, Spock could see out the window and over the soft, rolling plains of farmland on the outskirts of Riverside, Iowa, Earth, frozen and brown. It was not one of those bitter, snowy Decembers that Jim’s late great-uncle (and late-owner of the farmhouse) would remember, but mostly brown with patches of days’ old snow that melted in the daylight before refreezing into brittle ice at night. For this, Spock was grateful; he was quite cold enough. 

However, Spock would not complain. While they had anticipated to spend the entirety of their eight week leave in Starfleet accommodations in San Francisco, where it was marginally warmer, the crowded city environment was taxing to Leona’s mental state. The opportunity to leave came in the form of an invitation from Winona Kirk, recently retired Lieutenant Commander and Jim’s mother, to spend the rest of their leave at the farmhouse with her and Peter, who was on winter recess from his first year at the Academy. 

Riverside had become a time for peace after San Francisco. Spock’s memories of the first three weeks were largely of navigating Starfleet bureaucracy to secure the necessary accommodations that would allow Leona to live with them on the _Enterprise_ when their leave was finally over. It had been a complicated matter to do so and allow both Jim and himself to keep their current positions on board, but it was over with now and Spock, poised for meditation, released the stressful memories and thought ahead. Today was the day of their departure from Earth, where they would then be guests on the U.S.S. _Conscience_ for a nine day journey, before rendez-vousing with the _Enterprise_ at the edge of the Sienna sector— but they would have time enough and then some to review their itinerary in the coming week. What had Jim told him at several instances during their extended leave? “Enjoy it! Stop worrying so much!”

Spock instead pursued a thread of connection that led to another memory: his last message from his mother. On the day they adopted Leona, Spock had sent a brief recording to his parents informing them. In the response he received the next day, Sarek wished him well in this new endeavor, but Amanda spent several minutes imparting colloquial parenting wisdom until ending with an echo of Spock’s husband: “Don’t worry too much. It’ll come naturally.” 

Seven weeks later and Spock was skeptical. 

But, when he played the message again for Jim, Jim listened with growing emotionalism. At the last line, Spock looked over to see his husband, hazel eyes glistening (how ingenious of the human race to contain a color that was in fact a kaleidoscope of the most striking greens, golds, and browns into a succinct five letters) and they crinkled in a slightly less poetic wreath of “crows feet” (or as he preferred: “laughter lines”). 

Spock chose to wrap himself in the warmth of this image just as he had the blanket and allowed his mind to sink into the tranquility of meditation. 

~~~

Long after the sun rose, Jim stirred again. 

On the _Enterprise_ , Jim used to boast to complaining ensigns that when he lived on his uncle’s farm, he had to wake up before dawn everyday to complete his chores. Spock observed that he had not been demonstrating this habit during their stay. 

Upon the second rustling of blankets, Spock pulled himself out of his meditation, feeling clear-headed and loose-limbed. The scent of the candle hung heavy in the room after Spock extinguished it, though he mourned the loss of heat. The layers of quilted blankets and his husband’s warm body on the bed was a difficult temptation to resist, even after his mind was focused. Slowly, he rose to his feet and though he hesitated, passed the bed entirely to change out of his pajamas and into a simple long sleeve shirt and thermal efficient slacks—though he did wear the scratchy but warm sweater again. When they arrived at the Starfleet campus in New Kansas City to board the _Conscience_ , he and Jim would be in uniform, but until then, he would enjoy the warmth of civilian clothing. 

By the time he slipped his feet into fleece-lined slippers, Jim had surrendered his fight for more sleep and yawned loudly. “Mornin’” he murmured after. He spent a long moment looking at Spock with a lazy smile, then pat the empty mattress next to him heavily, still not in full control of his tired extremities.

Spock knelt on the space indicated and replied with a deep, “Good morning, _ashayam_.”

Jim blinked to banish the sleepy blur from his vision and then grinned. “Come‘ere.” Jim hoisted himself up on his elbows and Spock met him by leaning down the rest of the way, arms on either side of Jim’s shoulders for support, and kissing him, the human way.

When they parted, Jim’s grin was even brighter, wider. He looked beautiful. Happy, right where they were. 

Below them, the clamor of cooking began and Spock knew their time was limited before Winona or Leo called them down for breakfast, but Jim did not seem to care.

Jim pulled Spock on top of him by the turtleneck of his sweater. His plush lips planted sloppy kisses around Spock’s mouth. Spock coaxed one of Jim’s hands away from his collar and pushed it into the space above Jim’s head on the pillow, interlocking their fingers and opening their bond for the first time that morning. 

Jim gasped and Spock was pleased that he could still elicit such a response by merely touching his mind to Jim’s. In response, Jim raised his other hand and brushed his fingers over the psy points along Spock’s face, intensifying their bond and drawing a shiver from the Vulcan. Their touches quickly transcended the physical as the boundaries between them muddied. 

_Parted from me, and never parted. Never and always touching and touched._

Jim let his head fall back on the pillow to catch his breath as the bond stabilized. Bathed in Spock’s post-meditative tranquility, he took in the day ahead. “Ready to go back?” 

Spock nodded. “I am prepared. Are you?”

Jim’s grin went lopsided. “I know I’ve been restless since we’ve been stuck planetside, but now I wish we had a little more time here.”

“In Riverside, or in this bed?” Spock posed with an exaggerated quirk of an eyebrow. He further punctuated the question with a suggestive hip manuever that made Jim laugh. 

“At least play fair!” he cried. 

Spock let Jim easily overpower him and wrestle him onto his back. Jim’s ministrations on his neck drew a growl from deep in the back of his throat. Now on top of him, Jim was caught in the slanted morning sun that highlighted not only the obscene amount of dust particulate floating in the stagnant air, but also the gold in everything: Jim’s hair, his eyes, in his very skin. Gold like fire, gold like command, like it was essential to the atomic make-up of Jim Kirk.

Spock was suddenly resigned to their impending departure from Riverside and the time they spent there felt like playacting at a different life—not so much better or worse, but undestined, improbable. Idyllic, but nonexistent. 

Jim noticed his melancholy shift before Spock could banish it. He sat back on his heels and brushing Spock’s cheek with his thumb, smiled sadly. “Yeah,” was all he said. 

Spock pushed himself upright and they shared one more kiss before Leo’s shriek of “BREAKFAST!” came from the bottom of the stairs. 

Jim groaned and so did the old bed when he and Spock parted. “God, the kid’s got lungs,” he muttered before leaving Spock still on the bed, unwilling, yet, to leave.

~~~

For their last day on Earth, Winona had amassed a small mountain of food on the creaky old kitchen table. 

Winona Kirk was a short, stout woman in her mid-sixties with wispy white hair that she always styled feathered away from her round face, but she was no less intimidating for any of it. Until her retirement eighteen months prior, she had been the longest serving helmsman on the U.S.S. _Congo_ and could stare down anyone like she was about to fly into battle, a gaze which she now directed toward her grandson.

Peter Kirk sat at the kitchen table, trying desperately to disappear behind a stack of pancakes. At eighteen, he bore a remarkable resemblance to his Uncle Jim and his late father, Sam, who themselves had been eerily identical, except Peter’s hair was redder and he was trying in vain to grow a mustache. (Jim informed Spock that Sam had at least waited until he could grow one in fully to do so.)

They boy’s shoulders were hunched under his grandmother’s scrutiny. “And why isn’t it done if you’ve had all this time?” Winona was asking, wielding a threatening spatula. 

He shrugged. “I’ll finish it before I have to go back—it’s just one essay!”

“And you said you finished everything already—”

“He was lying then.” 

Leona sat diagonally to Peter, picking at a bowl of fruit intently and offering the knowledge as if reciting a weather report. 

Winona’s eyes narrowed. 

“Hey, kid, remember what we talked about,” Jim cut in, announcing their arrival and very possibly sparing Peter a lecture. Leo’s attention snapped to Jim at his voice. “We don’t go sharing other people’s feelings and intentions and stuff, right?”

Leo huffed. “But he did!” She had difficulty with this rule, Spock observed, quite frequently. She went back to her fruit bowl and Jim shrugged to his mother, who’s expression had softened considerably. 

“Finally decided to join us?” she chided. 

Unlike most humans he had met, Spock liked Winona Kirk. She was the origin of so many of the qualities Spock admired in his husband. The unfolding debacle notwithstanding, she was a difficult person to “pull one over on” and her forty-year Starfleet career was marked by her cleverness and compassion. She dedicated the first year of retirement to renovating her uncle’s farmhouse, dating back to the mid-twenty-first century, and updating it with all the modern conveniences, notably a replicator where she got all the ingredients she couldn’t grow in winter. The farmland that once belonged to her uncle had been parcled away after his death, but Winona did favors for the surrounding farms by fixing up machinery and flying the crop duster. 

At the moment, she stood over a griddle on the stovetop and added to a second tower of pancakes.

“Just wanted to get as much sleep as we can before we go. Nothing on board is half as comfortable as that bed.”

Winona eyed them and Spock became excruciatingly conscious of his unkempt hair. He tried to flatten it with his palm. Winona shook her head and left the griddle to come up to him and, licking her finger, fixed the frustrating cowlick, sighing, “Spock, honey, you have the worst bedhead.”

Spock felt himself freeze under the contact and his face color, but as quickly as she came, she retreated to put another plate on the table like nothing had happened at all. Jim looked at Spock with such amusement, eyes crinkling, that he was doubly embarrassed. Compared to when they arrived twenty-six days ago, Spock was downright at home with the domestic behavior of the Kirk family. “Thank you, Winona,” he replied stiffly on his way to refuge at the table. 

Leo, looking like she absolutely could not hold in the question any longer, seized Spock’s arm as he passed. “Do we hafta go today? Nana said that next week there’s gonna be a big ball that drops from the sky right at midnight and then everyone has a party, but I wanna see where it drops! Please!”

Spock extricated his arm carefully and looked to Jim, who was still deeply amused, before replying, “We must leave today to be present for the launch of the _Conscience_ —”

“She asked me yesterday and didn’t like my answer, so I told her to try her luck with you,” Jim admitted in a theatrical whisper.

“But I wanna see the ball! And fireworks! Peter said there’s always fireworks!” she cried, facing backward in the chair kneeling up to plead with him. 

Spock was extremely grateful when Jim interrupted, walking passed and ruffling her curly brown hair while he did. “Sorry, champ. Let’s take care of breakfast first, and then we’ll see if we can crash any parties on the ship.” Leo pouted, but sat back down. Jim squeezed Spock’s shoulder before going to help his mother. 

“So Pete, what’s this essay about?” Jim asked. 

Peter shrugged and dug his fork into a pancake, but Jim didn’t let it go. “History? Rare Andorian poetry? Quantum physics?” he ended, jerking his thumb toward Spock to volunteer his assistance. 

“Elementary Temporal Mechanics,” he replied glumly and Jim shuddered. “The instructor wants us to turn in an essay before the class even starts.”

“Just hearing the name gives me flashbacks, huh, Spock?”

Spock, now sitting across from Peter, agreed. “Perhaps you never left the lecture hall and the last twenty-two years have occurred in a temporal pocket?” he delivered drily. 

Jim struck another expression of horror. “Don’t even joke!”

“See all the fun conversation I’m going to miss out on when you _all_ _leave me_?” Winona sighed dramatically, focusing on Spock with the same teasing smile her son inherited. 

“Mom!” Jim groaned before she made Spock even more uncomfortable. Spock knew, or it had been explained to him, that Winona only wanted to make him feel like “a part of the family,” but she only managed to terrify him. 

Jim sidled up beside his mother, back at the stove, and plucked the spatula out of her hand when she wasn’t paying attention. He saved the last pancake from burning on the griddle, flipping it just in time. Winona turned and crossed her arms. 

“What are you trying to do, burn the house down?” Jim jabbed.

“Oh you sound just like your dad,” she snapped in the same joking tone. 

“You installed and programmed a perfectly functional replicator so you wouldn’t have to ‘waste your time cooking’—”

“He and I had the exact same conversation the last time he was here. Scary is what it is!” she decided, sizing up her son, but he pretended to ignore her. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

Winona tried nudging him out of the way but he elbowed her back until she let out an exasperated huff. “James Tiberius, won’t you sit down already?” She looked over to the table and spotted Spock’s empty place. “Bring this plate over to your husband. And Spock, honey, take some fruit! Eat!”

“Leave him alone, Mom,” but Jim did hand the plate over to him. “Let me get some coffee first,” he said when he didn’t relinquish the coveted spatula.

Spock noticed Leo’s attention was rapt on the quick back and forth between mother and son. Betazoids were unaccustomed to people not saying what they meant. Coupled with the already simplistic understanding children had of the world, it was a strange new emotion for her. All month, she was audience to the sharp bickering between them, but behind it, she felt love (and true annoyance). Such contradictions once baffled Spock as well.

Jim was busy trying to goad his mother toward the table. “Mom, sit down. I’ll take care of it,” he was saying. 

She finally won back the spatula. “Who’s making breakfast?” She hit him square in the chest with the flat side, leaving behind a footprint of oil droplets and burned batter clinging to the wiry fibers of his sweater, and making everyone laugh. 

That did not stop Jim from continuing to argue, “Breakfast’s made! Look, you’ve made enough for the whole fleet already. Let me take care of it!”

He made a point of not sitting until Winona accepted a plate and mug of coffee and settled in the chair across the table from Leo. Jim joined them last, pulling up a chair beside Leo. He leaned over to fix the hair that he had mussed earlier and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Good morning, kid.” She looked at him, beaming and with an admiration familiar to Spock. They moved with a strange synchronicity that Spock was unsure if it originated from her idolization of him, or the mental bond that often made them act more like one person than two. 

“Where’re you going next?” Peter asked Spock, drawing him out of his study. They had only received their orders two days before, where they discovered that they would need to end their visit to Earth earlier than anticipated to account for the time it took to travel back to the _Enterprise_. The orders had included a short and vague briefing on their first mission once they returned. 

“The _Conscience_ is travelling toward the Sienna Sector, so the Voes system is our hypothesis.”

Winona’s eyebrows drew together. “That far out?”

Spock nodded and Peter’s eyes widened in delight. Peter was on the command track and Spock suspected that he dreamed of captaining an exploratory vessel like the _Enterprise_ one day. “What’s out there?”

Winona frowned at his eagerness. “The Voestra Empire?” she asked, and Jim nodded. 

“We learned about them in Recent Discoveries—” Peter was interrupted by Winona, suddenly stern. 

“What business does Starfleet have with the Voestra Empire?”

Jim spared a glance at Spock and Spock was surprised to be suddenly thrust back into the role of first officer here at a breakfast table in Iowa. “It’s Federation business. Probably just a ferry trip, we think,” Jim answered, soliciting Spock’s confirmation.

This did not satisfy his mother. “That system is a warzone!”

“Like I said, it’s just for security—”

“Like hell they’re sending in the _Enterprise_ —”

“It’s the flagship—”

“It’s a _science_ ship!”

“Mom, please. Not right now, alright?” Jim put up his hands in defeat and Winona scowled. Peter looked at Winona, face pale, waiting for her to respond, but Leo stared fixedly at Jim, black eyes wide, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. 

Finally, though the fire never dimmed in her eyes, Winona set her mouth in a thin line and sipped from her mug, and Jim did the same. 

Across from Spock, Peter looked like he wished he never asked, while Leo, mirroring Jim, looked down at her plate and did nothing. The human emotion “awkwardness” shrouded the kitchen. Spock believed that living planetside for two months surrounded by mostly humans did something twenty-years serving with Starfleet surrounded by mostly humans did not: it made him experience the full spectrum of human embarrassment. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked Leona to puncture the silence. She had been telling Jim of vivid nightmares for the last few weeks, not nightly, but too many to be the natural product of a child’s imagination. Spock was eager to return to the _Enterprise_ if only to introduce the child to the ship’s newest crew member added during their absence, a xenopsychologist who was assigned to Leo’s case. 

She nodded and looked back down. She pushed away her plate that still held a half-eaten pancake. “Okay,” she answered.

“All done there?” Jim asked, breaking his silence and stretching his face into a smile. She nodded and hopped off her seat, but Jim blocked her from leaving with an arm slung across the gap between their chairs. “Going to do your meditation exercises, right?”

She pouted. This was an invention of Spock’s to keep these disturbing nightmares at bay, as well as to hopefully provide a reprieve from her uncontrollable empathy. While Spock could say empirically that the lengthy exercises were helping diminish her psychic stress, she found them exceedingly boring and complained about them almost every day. 

“Come on,” Jim prodded. 

She relented with a petulant “Okay,” that was so pitiful, it made Jim smile for real this time. 

Hidden by her coffee cup, Winona was smiling too. 

“And make sure you thank Nana for breakfast.”

Winona shook her head. “She doesn’t have to, honey.”

“It’s good manners.”

“I did,” Leo said.

“Okay.”

“She did!” 

“Okay!” Jim raised his hands again. “You’re free,” he told Leo and she grinned before barreling back upstairs.

Soon after, Peter finished and Winona sent him off to work on his essay. The kitchen was now peaceful and still warm from the stove. Spock felt they were finally able to enjoy the morning as he sipped from a cup of tea and ate sparingly from the feast in front of him. At some point in the quiet, Jim had placed his hand on the table and Spock covered it with his. He prodded at their bond and Jim expressed that for all the grief his family caused him, he was sorry to leave. Spock stroked Jim’s hand with his thumb for comfort. 

In his periphery, Spock could see Winona looking at their joined hands and smiling wistfully. Spock had not met her until after the wedding. He knew little of human rituals around love and courtship, for his mother and father’s romance adhered entirely to Vulcan customs, as far as he knew, but he had been worried—not worried—apprehensive that Jim’s parents would be insulted that he had not consulted them before the ceremony. Spock was unsure if they had even known of their relationship before, but it did not seem to matter when they met and Winona had wrapped her arms around both of them in a fierce hug, as if Spock was also her son.

“I finally got a letter from your dad,” she said to Jim when she knew that Spock had caught her. “He said he tried to get leave to see you guys and meet Leo, but it didn’t work out,” Commander George Kirk was first officer on the behemoth U.S.S. _Arcadia_ that currently patrolled the border of the Neutral Zone. Jim believed that his father would never retire until he was forced out by command, he was just having too much fun. 

Jim shrugged and slipped his hand out of Spock’s to push the remaining food around his plate. “I doubt he could’ve gotten back before we had to leave again anyway.”

“He’s happy to be a grandparent again… I mean since Peter’s grown, but so am I.”

“I feel like I should apologize for the short notice,” Jim joked.

”You did a good thing,” she said seriously. “But he’s thinking about you guys. Worrying about you. I don’t think he’s going to like to hear about where you’re headed.”

“Really, Mom?” Jim quirked his eyebrow, which made even Spock smile.

She shrugged. “The Voestra Empire has been in a civil war for a century, since before they were even discovered by the Federation. I don’t like it.”

Jim sighed. “What’s it Dad always says? ‘Them’s orders.’”

Winona was not amused. “I don’t like that Leo’s going with you either.”

Jim’s mouth twisted. He could not argue with that. Privately to Spock, he had confessed his own reservations but… 

“She could stay, you know,” Winona said. “There’s good schools here now. And doctors.”

“You know that she can’t, Mom.”

Looking between them, Spock could see the same tight, sad smiles on two near identical faces.

“She will be safe on the ship.” Spock volunteered, because he felt like he needed something to say to continue to justify his presence. “She will be supervised at all times. Starfleet has contracted a carer for her when—” He grew silent under their, again, identical, looks of shortening patience.

“Thank you. I know... ” She reached out and took Jim’s hand across the table. “Jim, you're a good dad.” Jim went pink with the praise. “I know it’s all new, to both of you, but you’ll get it. I know you will.” She squeezed Jim’s hand. “She loves you so much already. I don’t have to be, you know, _telepathic_ to know that.” The blush had crept up to his ears by the time she dropped his hand. 

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Thanks Mom… I gotta go help Leo pack. Where should I put this?” He held up his mug and plate and she dismissed it with a wave.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said and insisted when he didn’t move; “Don’t worry about it honey, you’re guests!”

Jim laughed loudly. “Mom, I swear to God, if you call me a guest in _this_ house…”

Winona snorted. Spock appreciated that they were not a family that let sentimental moments linger. “Nevermind then, just dump it in the sink with Peter and Leo’s.” 

Before he left, he stopped behind Spock’s chair and stole a replicated blueberry from Spock’s bowl. “I thought you were going,” Spock posed playfully as he felt Jim’s warm hand on his shoulder and his chair protested with a sharp creak as Jim leaned on the back and stole a kiss from Spock’s cheek. It was Spock’s turn to blush.

Jim sighed. “I told her last night that we might not be able to fit all of her collection in her suitcase—” Since the shells on Baker’s Beach, Leo’s collection of natural Earth artifacts had exploded. Currently, her prized possession and primary fascination was an owl pellet she found outside with Peter.

“I told her this morning that I’d make sure anything she left’d be kept safe here.”

“Yeah, but she was about ready to cry last night, so,” he shrugged, “it’s a battle I’m willing to lose.”

Winona smiled when Jim kissed her cheek too and thanked her for breakfast. “Picking battles, you’re a natural already!”

Spock stood as Jim left and started to collect his dishes as well until Winona tsked, “Spock, you can stay and eat. I’m in no hurry to tidy up since apparently you aren’t _company_.”

He nodded and thanked her, but cleared his place anyway and began to clear the rest of the table as he did.

Winona watched him, amused, but did not continue to protest. 

“Thank you for your invitation and your hospitality during our stay,” Spock said.

“Don’t even mention it. It’s really, well, Jim actually owns the house, so I guess you _really_ don’t count as guests.” She laughed at his surprise. 

“He never told you? My Uncle Cyrus, the old grump, left it to Jim when he died, you see, ‘cause he was still sore about this time when I was seventeen, staying here for the summer, and I snuck out to see George. He lived in town back then and we had only met a few weeks before, so I was trying to impress him or something, I think. Anyway, I jerry-rigged this little remote to jam the security alarm on the front door and then to unlock the garage door so I could take the old bike, but it also cut the power to the lock on the pig pen. And they escaped.” She shrugged delightedly. 

“Anyway it took him a week to find them all, and by then one of the farmers had taken in three of them and wanted Old Cy to trade one of his best sows to get them back, and also I scuffed the bike. 

“Of course, Jimmy totaled the poor thing some twenty years later, but by then it was just gathering dust in the garage anyway, so Cy gave him the house and he’s just nice enough to let me stay.”

Spock had completely stopped organizing the dirty dishes in the sink to stare at his mother-in-law, who laughed at the memory and then at Spock. 

“He didn’t, by the way.”

“What?”

“Trade the cow for the pigs. Cy kept her and she got a blue ribbon at the state fair five years running afterward.”

“Oh.” Beyond any of the humans he had ever met, the Kirks would never cease to amaze him. He hoped that Leo would not continue this trend. If jamming security systems and stealing motorcycles was the rebellious teenage fodder of a generation ago, Spock was terrified of what Leo would invent. At least Peter seemed fine, Spock reasoned, hoped.

“I thought the story would amuse you… or something,” she admitted. “You’re wound tighter than an—I don’t even know what.” She was next to him now. She gave him the mug to stack carefully on top of the others in the sink and looked up to him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Again, Spock was at a loss of how to respond.

“You were quieter than usual this morning,” she explained. 

She reached over him to turn on the faucet and Spock was brought back to himself. 

“I apologize,” he said, though he knew she did not want an apology.

She squeezed his arm and frowned. After a moment of tension, Spock relaxed into the touch. “For what?”

He let his arm drop to his side and his head bow. Spock missed his own mother. They had not communicated since her message about Leona two months ago. It was not unusual for Spock to go several months without contacting either of his parents, he wondered then why he felt the desire so acutely now. Was it Winona? She and Amanda were vastly different, but he felt the same warmth here that he did with her. 

If that were the reason, then what did he want from his mother? Comfort? Security? Guidance? All three?

Then he thought of Jim. Jim had provided all three to Leona since before they adopted her. It was because of that that _not_ adopting Leo was out of the question. It all made too much sense, them together and Spock—

“I am sorry that we must leave today and could not stay to… let Leona see the ball drop,” he offered. 

Winona smiled. “Me too.” 

“According to my research,” Spock spoke quietly. “The Voestra Empire has brokered a peace with the secessionists and have recently declared an armistice. Jim and I believe the _Enterprise_ ’s mission is entirely diplomatic in nature. We do not anticipate any danger.” He thought of his mother again, he tried to imagine what he could say that would reassure her, but realized that he had already said it. So he continued, “If we did, if _Jim_ did, he would not allow the child to accompany us.”

She squeezed his arm again. “I know. But thanks for saying it all the same. You know, the more I say it, the more I realize I’m not so concerned on her account. But it’s just that…” she stopped, weighing her words carefully. “I’ve already buried one of my boys, Spock, I don’t ever stop worrying that I’ll have to do it again.” 

Her clear eyes blinked away tears, but she twisted her lips into a wry smile that, while it wavered, never broke. She let go of his arm and turned back to the table to finish clearing it. They worked together quietly storing the leftover food, and washing the dishes. 

Despite insisting that they would not need it, Winona made up a lunch for them on the air rail to New Kansas City. He only accepted when she told him it would be rude not to take. After a half hour, the kitchen was cleaner than it had been last night. Winona looked around satisfied and then her eyes landed on Spock. 

“Now I know you’re the last person that needs to be told, but understand that I’m the first person that needs to say this. You got that, right?”

Spock cocked his head and fell instinctively into his customary position of relaxed attention, weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet. Ready to receive orders. “Yes.”

Winona smiled affectionately at the stance. “I know my Jim. I know how he can get, stupid and stubborn and bullheaded and reckless. Make him listen to you. Make him listen to his crew, and that handsome doctor of yours. Get him to stop and think once in a while, right?” She pressed her hand to the center of his chest, where a human heart would be. 

“You take care of him.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

~~~

They left for New Kansas City on the air rail before noon. It was the first time Spock had donned his uniform since leaving San Francisco. As he put it on back at the farm house, he smoothed each crease with slow deliberateness, and packed his case with a precision beyond his usual standard for organization. Seeing Jim back in command gold nearly stole his breath. Handsome, as always, but that was not what affected the Vulcan. It was the weight of the _Enterprise_ that rested on Jim’s shoulders. No longer just husbands, no longer just fathers, but captain and commander again. Out of habit, in the station, they barely touched and Spock was forced to read Jim’s emotions on his face and not in his thoughts, and his face was unreadable: a pleasant midwestern smile that periodically showed something of real delight while Leo, who tugged on his hand, invented a convoluted game they could play on the train. 

Even she grew confused by her own rules as they boarded and in waiting for the train to depart, plastered her face to the window and became engrossed by every passerby on the busy platform until the mental clamor fatigued her. 

Winona and Peter stayed on the platform until the air rail lurched into motion and soon they and Riverside were gone in a brown and gray blur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Pandemic, huh?  
> This story has had a difficult life, but I am so excited to start posting it! I finally made it!  
> I posted the last chapter of ABMT one week before everything in my state shut down. At that time, I had just scrapped the first 50 pages of this AND decided to completely reconceive the story. I'm so happy I did, but when shelter-in-place orders took affect, I'm sure like many of you, my brain just stopped. Slowly, and with the support and enthusiasm of my amazing friend and beta, andydear, I dug in, rewrote and rewrote and rewrote until I liked what I had. And guys, I REALLY LIKE IT!  
> The thing I struggled with the most early on was establishing Spock's voice. Like ABMT was all from Jim's perspective, TNS will be all Spock's POV, and at first I really couldn't pin down the tone. However, during one of the many rewrites, I discovered the voice you see here and just fell in love. I hope I've done our Vulcan friend justice!  
> Finally, sources:  
> As always, Memory Alpha, Memory Beta, and Fantasy Name Generator are genuine life savers! But I would also like to note that I used [ this fan-created map of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants ](https://brilliantmaps.com/star-trek-map/) as a reference.
> 
> You can find me @fairwellersmustache on tumblr.com
> 
> Chapter Two: "Kid Logic" will be posted September 10th.  
> As the ancients say: "Like, comment, and subscribe!"


	2. “Kid Logic”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock, Leona, and Kirk are adjusting to their new life on the Enterprise as a family. Some people are adjusting better than others. Spock is some people.

Twenty-three days after they left Earth, and fourteen since returning to the Enterprise, Spock woke at 02:03 to find Jim kneeling on the floor by the door to their bedroom comforting a crying Leona. 

It was the third such night in a row that he woke to this scene. It was not unusual for Leo to suffer nightmares, nor for those nightmares to wake Jim as well. On any night, there was a thirty-six percent likelihood of a nightmare borne from the trauma she experienced on the Betazoid satellite occuring, but three nights in a row was a startling deviation from the norm. In the dim glow of the safety lights, Spock saw the crease of concern in Jim’s forehead. He held Leo’s shoulders and rubbed her arms as if to warm her as he comforted her. Despite all their attempts to be quiet, Spock’s superior hearing prevailed and he could hear Jim murmur the question, “Another one about the dark place?”

Between them, “the dark place” was the shorthand for both the physical and mental place Leo was trapped when Jim rescued her from the abandoned research satellite less than three months ago, orphaned and half-dead.

Leo sniffled and bobbed her head. Her hands covered her face. “But this time, I couldn’t even breathe!” she cried, her voice becoming louder as it broke around a sob.

Jim hushed her and squeezed her shoulders. The remnants of a cold sweat that must have broken out when Leo’s dream woke him too, glistened over his brow. He would have been already on his way to her bedroom next door when she came to find him. “That is scary.” He pulled her into a tight hug and she sobbed again into his shoulder. “How are you feeling now? Breathing alright?” he asked after he let go and started to wipe her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

She tried very hard to give a neutral expression, but tears still leaked from her eyes. She tried to suppress another sob, but it hiccoughed out of her. 

Jim chuckled softly. And pulled her back into a hug until she breathed evenly again. When she did, she yawned.

“Tired?” he guessed.

She shook her head, albeit sleepily.

“Yeah, right,” Jim said after he yawned in response. He stood up and tapped her shoulder. “Back to bed?” Then he nudged her toward the door, but her body went stiff and she shook her head vehemently.

“No!” she protested. “If I’m tired can I stay with you?”

Jim scrubbed his hands down his face. “Okay, We can—” Jim turned back to the bed with a longing look and saw Spock, propped up on his elbows watching them. For the first time, Spock saw Jim head on and with his superior eyesight, could see the full extent of Jim’s exhaustion. Dark hollows began to form under Jim’s eyes, his shoulders slumped, and he could barely talk without yawning. “Hey, babe.”

“It’s alright,” Spock said.

“I was trying not to—”

“It’s alright.” 

The genuine disappointment in Jim’s demeanor surprised him. 

Silently, Spock filed away Leo’s description of her dream to record later. Keeping track of the mutations her unconscious mind imposed on her memory felt like the logical thing to do, even if he had no hypothesis yet with which to examine the data. It was an irony he was unprepared to dissect, and neither did he know how to analyze Jim’s discontent. 

Leo tugged on Jim’s shirtsleeve and Spock guessed what she was asking for. Spock slid to the edge of the bed and left the rest open as permission. Jim smiled, the expression almost reached his eyes. By now this was becoming a routine. “Come on, kid, you can stay with us for the rest of the night.” He let out a theatrical groan as he lifted up Leo by her underarms and deposited her heavily on the foot of the bed, making her shriek with laughter.

Spock sat up fully and pulled the blanket down for her to settle in the middle of the mattress. “Another nightmare?”

She sobered instantly and nodded.

“But it’s okay,” Jim said sitting down on the opposite side of the bed. 

She sat with her legs folded in front of her. “I was in the dark place and I couldn’t breathe! And then I—”

“You don’t need to talk about it again if you don’t want to,” Jim interrupted with concern.

Leo fell silent and looked down at her hands. 

“It’s okay,” Jim continued, “‘cause you’re with us now and I’d like to see any bad dream get past us.” He reached over Leo’s head and nudged Spock’s shoulder, but Spock was looking down at Leo who chased a wrinkle in the bedspread with her fingertip.

“There’s no evidence that supports sleeping in one’s guardians’ bed reduces the likelihood of nightmares,” Spock said.

Leo looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Of course it does,” Jim said quickly. He shot his husband a look and settled down on the bed on his side. 

“It would be inaccurate to suggest—”

“Shut up honey, it’s kid logic.”

Leo followed Jim’s example and slid down under the blanket. For a moment, they both considered Spock with identical, unreadable expressions. He dropped his argument and laid down himself. 

Leo turned into Jim and hid her face in his chest. Despite his exhaustion, Jim smiled softly and pet her hair. “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he murmured. She gave a muffled reply that even Spock couldn’t make out, but Jim chuckled. 

Spock reached over and drew the blanket up over Leo’s shoulder and Jim’s smile melted into parental contentment. Through their bond, Spock knew that these were the moments Jim envisioned when he imagined becoming a parent, and Spock was glad for him to have them, but when Jim raised his eyes to meet Spock’s his expression was tight with worry and the crease in his forehead returned. 

Spock waited for Leo’s breath to slow and grow shallow in sleep before speaking. “I will inform Dr. Kibir tomorrow.”

Jim’s mouth twisted into skeptical frown. “Sure… I guess.”

Dr. Diazrid Kibir was one of the newest members of the crew of the Enterprise, transferred from the hospital ship, the U.S.S. Galen, to assume the heretofore vacant post of resident xenopsychologist. Leona was her primary patient and Jim a reluctant one. Kibir’s transfer was part of Starfleet’s compromise to allow Leo to live aboard, receiving treatment from their approved doctor. On her home planet of Trill, Kibir studied the shared mental bond between the small percentage of Trill that could host symbiotes and their inhabitants, but her last three years on the Galen were spent studying the Enarans’ communication by memory implantation. She was obviously selected for her work in abnormal psychic bonds and not childhood psychology, which, considering the treatment the Betazed formulated, left Jim suspicious. Spock had shared his husband’s doubts initially, but as the de facto objective observer of the bond between Jim and Leo, he saw the merits of Kibir’s treatment. 

After Leo was woken by bad dreams twice more that night, both being further variations on the dark place, Spock was certain Kibir should be informed—but Jim still felt dubious. Though it was an hour earlier than was his custom, after Leo woke them all for the second time that night, Spock rose to begin his morning meditations in the common living room of their quarters. He welcomed the opportunity to organize the concerns he would present to Kibir later that day. 

In the fourteen days since they had returned to the Enterprise, much denser with people and emotions than Earth or even their intermediary transport, and Leo’s defenses, which they had worked so hard to foster on Earth, were crumbling rapidly. Kibir’s professional aid slowed the decline, like staunching blood from a wound, lessening the threat, but not eliminating it. The routine he and Jim grew around was failing, which scared them both as much as the pain scared her. In the last two weeks of daily therapy sessions, Spock thought the improvements in Leo’s control were obvious. Though she still suffered nightmares and with increasing frequency, she was now better at distancing herself from the emotions of others, including Jim, to whose emotional fluctuations, she was still learning to tolerate. Spock understood that by building up the barriers between Leo and Jim, she would better be able to employ those same barriers between her and the world at large— Jim sometimes had trouble seeing the logic of it. 

When Spock rose from his mediation, three hours and eighteen minutes later, he saw across the room from him, Leo kneeling on top of the desk rearranging her collection. 

After adopting Leo and negotiating with Starfleet to allow her to live on board, their cabin assignment was moved to a small converted guest suite on deck two that contained two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a small common area. The common area included a built in sofa across from the door, situated under a slanted window (in front of which Spock now sat), a desk with a computer console under a set of shelves on the opposite wall, and a dining area and replicator separated from the rest of the room by a latticed partition. 

Leo’s collection received pride of place on the shelves behind the desk, right between Spock’s lyre, and their tri-dimensional chess set, still mid-game from before Spock left for the Vulcan Science Academy conference, before Leo’s rescue. This was her favorite pastime, what she took to erroneously calling “cataloguing.” 

Upon moving in, Leo had spent over an hour deciding how to arrange all her “artifacts” and still enjoyed creating new criteria by which to sort them. That morning, Spock ascertained, she worked first by color, then by categorical size.

An abandoned bowl of oatmeal sat on the dining table and Spock could hear the shower running in the bathroom on the opposite side of their quarters. 

In the last two weeks, Jim and Spock had attempted to impose a routine on her, but after two months of improvising child rearing, Leo was resistant to the rigidity of ship life. During his heavy negotiation with Starfleet, Spock convinced Starfleet to provide a tutor and carer for Leo to alleviate the burden somewhat. In this case, Starfleet contracted Nida Abbassi, a young human schoolteacher, who was now the second civilian resident of the Enterprise. She had an impressive resume with Starfleet, having provided education and childcare on many civilian-grade vessels in the last five years. While she was used to serving large classrooms of students of all different races and grade levels, her role on the Enterprise was to be tutor during the day and carer whenever Jim and Spock’s duties prevented both of them looking after Leo. Jim was much less skeptical of Nida, and Leo adored her, so Spock approved. 

It was Nida’s lessons and Dr. Kibir’s appointments that gave structure to Leo’s day, and of the fourteen days this routine had been in place, she was content most of the time. This morning, however, Leo had apparently drifted from routine again, deciding not to eat breakfast before Nida came to collect her for the day. 

“Good morning,” Spock said as he rose.

She looked over and smiled with an acorn in one hand and pinecone in the other. “Hello.”

Spock went to the desk, observing her thought process. For a highly emotional child, Spock was continually impressed by her capacity for analysis. “How did you sleep?”

She shrugged.

“When you see Dr. Kibir today, you should tell her about the nightmares you had last night,” he suggested.

“Okay.”

“Do you remember them?”

When she finally turned to look at him, it was with a strange look that expressed both “obviously,” and “how could I forget?” that was altogether too precocious for a six-year-old.

Spock understood. “Very good. Now, I believe your father put out breakfast so that you would eat it,” Spock said, quirking an eyebrow and gesturing to the table. 

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like oatmeal.”

“You enjoyed it on Earth.” On Earth, they actually discovered that Leo was partial to many human foods, but Jim had selected this option no doubt for its nutritional value as well.

She shrugged again and twisted back to place the acorn and pinecone preceding a mosquito caught in amber. 

“I don’t like it anymore.”

Spock took note of the still pristine spoon next to the bowl. “You may change your mind once you’ve tried it. Besides, if you do not eat now, you will not have the chance to do so before lunch.” Failing to convince her to even leave the desk, Spock retrieved the bowl and spoon just as Jim emerged from their quarters, in uniform, but his hair still damp from the shower, and reading from a data PADD. “‘Morning,” he greeted them with a hurried cheerfulness. He glanced up and saw Spock and Leo and frowned. “Leo, I thought I told you to eat breakfast. We don’t have all the time in the world here, kid. Thanks, hon,” he said, taking the bowl from Spock and bringing it back to the table. 

Spock followed, curiously, with the spoon.

Leo must have felt the same annoyance lurking under Jim’s cheerfulness that Spock observed, because she immediately jumped down from the desk and followed them to the table, though not without a half-hearted, “But I don’t like oatmeal.”

Jim was at the replicator, ordering breakfast for himself and Spock, but he paused to throw over his shoulder: “You liked it last month.”

“‘M not hungry.”

Jim removed the tray from the replicator chamber and harrumphed. “Leo, we really don’t have time for this this morning. Nida’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes and you still need to get dressed and you haven’t done your meditation exercises either.” As he walked by Spock to set the table, he said in a voice too low for Leo to hear: “You know you could help me out here, it’s your job too now.”

Spock decided Jim would not take well to being corrected at this moment, and so let it go for now. 

When Leo finally sat down and picked up the spoon, Jim sat too and divided his attention between his own bowl of oatmeal, catching up with gamma shift’s updates, and keeping an eye on Leo. 

The three sat and ate in a tender silence until halfway through her bowl, Leo stuck her spoon upright in the coagulated cereal and cried “I hate it!” Whether “it” was the oatmeal or the meditation exercises was unclear until she appended, “it’s so boring!”

Spock saw some of Jim’s tension dissipate as he put the data PADD down and sighed. He kneaded where his neck met his shoulder, which often pained him in times of stress. He looked tired still, very tired. 

This was how their bond worked, as Spock observed. One small emotion like annoyance or anxiety would be shared and magnified between them until the original catalyst was lost and only the emotion was left. Spock decided then to interrupt and save Jim from another argument that morning. “You may find them unpleasant, but Dr. Kibir agrees that they are important for your acclimation to your environment each day.”

“And I can’t do it,” she grumbled.

“If you require help—”

“And it still hurts!” Her voice was thick with a suppressed sob.

Jim had stopped entirely, coffee cup half-raised to his lips. He was looking at Leo, but Leo was looking at Spock, and Spock didn’t know where to look at all. 

“I know. And I’m sorry,” Jim said, reaching across the table, but she did not respond in kind. Leo kept one hand wrapped around her spoon and the other hanging under the table. This was the hardest part for him, Jim told Spock once, when Leo pulled away. (“She’s in my head, all the time. When she goes, I feel like I’m losing a great big chunk of myself, like the way I felt after our first meld. But with her, it’s every time.”)

“Okay,” Jim surrendered. “Not today then. But you still need to change.”

Leo took this as a welcome dismissal and left for her bedroom. The room fell back into a taut silence while they continued to eat, but Jim assiduously avoided Spock’s gaze. 

“You should see Dr. Kibir today as well,” Spock said.

Jim almost laughed. “About what? That was just…” His charade fell. “Alright, that wasn’t great, but how can Kibir help? She’s not a family counsellor or parenting expert! Besides, even if I wanted to, I can’t today. There’s the… the… that thing tonight.”

“The reception banquet for the Voestrei Delegation,” Spock supplied. 

Jim did look suitably bashful for forgetting. “Yes. So you see, I can’t. Maybe tomorrow.”

Spock just sipped his tea. 

Jim huffed. “What? What’s that look for?”

Spock set down his now empty mug. “You haven’t been sleeping well?”

Jim frowned, then stewed, then grumbled. “I can’t exactly help that.”

Spock stood and gathered his dishes, and Jim’s empty bowl as well. “Perhaps Dr. Kibir may offer some advice.”

The door chime interrupted Jim’s retort, to Spock’s satisfaction. Spock gave permission for the door to their quarters to admit Nida Abbassi. “‘Morning gentlemen!” she greeted, smiling up from her wheelchair as she entered. Spock considered it a mark of her profession that she always appeared genial and friendly. Leo had certainly taken to her. 

“Hello,” “Hi,” Spock and Jim replied in turn. Jim stood next to Spock as Abbassi surveyed the room for Leo and another awkward silence fell. 

“Can we get you—”

“Where are we—”

“—anything?”

“—headed today, Captain?” Abbassi and Jim asked at once. This added awkwardness seemed to jolt Jim out of his brooding.

“Same way we’ve been headed for a while,” Jim answered Nida’s question. “Anytime now, we’ll enter the Voes system and pick up the delegation from Voestra Prime, then straight to Scravvel for the treaty signing.”

Nida nodded and then paused. “Now, I doubt this is what you want to hear from your daughter’s teacher, but interplanetary politics isn’t my strong suit. What treaty is this?”

“An agreement between the Voes Empire and Voestrei Independents to formally establish the secession of the eight former colonies from the empire. Starfleet has been asked to provide transportation,” Spock answered. 

“Thanks… but why should they need Starfleet? They’re all in the same system, it seems odd to drag the Enterprise all the way out here, no offense, Captain.”

“Security. These Independents are only eight of the three hundred or so planets that are part of the Empire. And off the record, these eight just so happen to host some of the most profitable rhenium mines in this galaxy. The Federation’s eager to impress.” Jim mused with a smirk.

“So they sent their prettiest ship?” she joked. 

“And don’t forget: their prettiest crew. Isn’t that right, Commander?”

Spock was surprised to be consulted; normally, he trusted his husband on such matters. “We know very little of the Voestrei. To them, we may be considered the height of ugliness,” he countered.

Jim shook his head. “Disheartening thought, Mr. Spock.”

“It’ll be so interesting to get to know their culture while they're aboard! I did do a little of my own research. I can’t believe Starfleet only made first contact with them fifty-four years ago but this rebellion’s been happening for over a century. Maybe Leo and I’ll go over some local history today.”

“Seems like there’s always more to learn,” Jim went to Leo’s door and told her Nida was here. 

As they waited Spock stood by Nida. “Miss Abbassi, we’ll also need your assistance this evening, as we are both required at the reception.”

She smiled warmly. “Thanks, I remember. We’ll get on alright, have her to bed right on time and all that.”

“We will not be there late,”  _ if Jim listens to me, _ he did not add. 

After Leo and Nida left, Jim was quiet. Spock left their room after changing into his uniform, to find Jim at the desk. Today’s itinerary and report log were displayed on the computer screen, but Jim had swiveled the desk chair around, and was looking at Leo’s collection, brooding again. 

Spock cleared his throat.

Jim looked up, startled. “Shall we go?” Spock asked. 

Jim turned back around and nodded. “Yeah, I was just…” he gestured to the screen and Spock nodded. Jim turned the console off, but hesitated where he sat. “This morning…” he began slowly. “This morning was about as much of a disaster as I think it was, right?” Jim’s brow softened as he turned his hazel eyes on Spock.

“That depends. How much of a disaster do you think it was?”

Jim snorted. “Cute.” He rose from his chair and stretched. When he stood in front of Spock, Spock saw his fingers twitch toward his own, but his hand stayed stubbornly in place. “Is it… is it getting worse? Or is this just the odd bad day? What do you think?” He asked quietly.

Spock brushed his hand against his husband’s and the warm, familiar spark of their bond flickered through them. It was not enough for Spock to sink fully into Jim’s mind; Spock wanted to leave Jim his privacy but remind him of his presence. Jim appreciated this. 

“In both humans and Betazoids, lack of sleep and increase in stress dramatically weakens emotional control and mental clarity. Without respite, such conditions will worsen. You know the dangers of an officer operating under undue fatigue and stress.”

“Yeah.” Jim closed his eyes and then nodded. “So… um… maybe tomorrow, I’ll take Leo to her appointment and see if I can grab a quick minute with Kibir.”

Spock nodded in approval. “Now, if we do not leave in the next thirty-two seconds, we will be late on the bridge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the only chapter that has writing that survived the rewrite lol  
> Quick pronunciation guide: so I imagine the “oe” sound in words like “Voes,” “Voestra,” “Voestrite,” and “Voestrei” to be pronounced similarly to how it’s pronounced in German, with a slight “r” sound closing the vowel. An anglicized pronunciation would probably forgo all but the tiniest hint of an “r” for a general “eh” sound. But ya know, it’s written science fiction so go wild.
> 
> Obligatory mention of the Fantasy Name Generator and both Memories Alpha and Beta, and of course my wonderful friend andydear
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @fairwellersmustache
> 
> Chapter Three: “Mother Hen” will be posted on September 17th.   
> How are you all liking it? Drop a comment and subscribe to stay tuned!


	3. "Mother Hen"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Enterprise prepares to welcome the Voestrei Delegation of Independents aboard, Spock finds himself closely monitoring Jim’s moods, and so is the rest of the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please imagine Dr. Diazrid Kibir played by Denise Crosby c. 1987

_ Voestrei is the noun, which refers to the people. Voestrite was the descriptor, adjective only. _ Spock shuddered at the ineffeciency of language that was being programmed into the  _ Enterprise _ ’s universal translator. He hovered over Nyota’s station, always fascinated to watch her work, and she chuckled at his response. “I know, I know, It bugs me too, but they actually have three different forms of the adjective alone, so count this as a blessing.”

Spock scowled.  _ The star system is Voes and the planet the  _ Enterprise _ orbits is Voestra Prime. _ The central planet of the empire (and the origin of life in this system) was Voestra, but the planet where the treaty would be signed was Scravvel. Starfleet’s information on the Voestrite culture was so sparse that Nyota was required to program the finer nuances of the language into the computer manually, which had taken the greater part of the last two weeks. She took that morning to troubleshoot the most obvious errors. First contact being so recent contributed to this deficiency. The Voestrite Empire was not a member of the Federation, having an ongoing conflict was its disqualifier, however the eight Independents were promised Federation entry upon the signing of the treaty and becoming sovereign entities. “It is a unique situation,” he allowed. 

“Only one of their delegates speaks any standard,” Nyota said. “And they’re so worried about security that they want their language on the translator disabled when they’re not meeting with one of us.”

“Is that possible?” Spock asked.

“I had to talk to five people in computer systems and engineering about it, but they were able to rig up some code, but it’s not like a flip of a switch. They only figured it out last night… Scotty told me all about it this morning… at breakfast,” Nyota shot a look up at Spock, and Spock understood she was hoping to elicit a reaction. He frowned, imperceptibly. “What? We had breakfast… Don’t you have anything to say to that?” Nyota goaded, her eyes dancing with humor and not a small amount of anxiety.

Spock leaned back against the console. “I understood you and Mr. Scott remained friends even after—”

Nyota huffed, frustrated that he chose the diplomatic answer. “Sure. We just met in the mess anyway.” Spock quirked an eyebrow and she sighed. “He just gets so damn cute sometimes that it makes me think I miss him more than I do.”

Spock tilted his head. 

“Ugh! You’re right! You know you’re right and you don’t need to rub it in.” She put her hands up in surrender and went back to her notebook. 

This was part of what fascinated Spock about Nyota’s translating process. She always preferred to work out difficult phrases with a pen and paper. She scrawled out two phrases in the alien tongue and frowned at them for a moment. “You know, it’s not quite our old M.O., but this is as close to ‘discovering new life’ as the  _ Enterprise _ has gotten in a while.” 

She scratched out the last phrase and wrote down the first one again. She spent another minute diagramming out the sentence and rearranging the words until she had crafted two alternatives in standard. “How’s this?” she asked him, giving him the notebook. No matter how interested he was in her method, he could not quite decipher what he was meant to read. She saw his confusion and explained. “They’ve got this idiom that’s pretty common, but I just can’t work out a good equivalent for it. It’s basically a colloquial about not understanding. I’ve tried a few, like ‘can’t make heads or tails of it,’ but they have so few native species with tails in their cultures… anyway, ‘I can’t wrap my head around it,’ fits best, but I don’t want them to think we’re referencing their…” she raised her hand over her head to mimic the elongated skulls that defined the Voestrei silhouette. “What do you think?”

He offered the notebook back to her. “Could you not simply supplement ‘I do not understand?’”

She scowled at the page for another few seconds before shaking her head. “It just doesn’t have the same tone, or melody…” 

“Certainly we are not expecting the Voestrei to write poetry tonight?”

She still frowned, but she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Oh well, we’re just going to hope everyone is on the same page tonight. And wouldn’t you know it? That’s the next one on the list!” She laughed at her own joke and Spock indulged in a smile.

Deciding to speak with Nyota during down time on the bridge was the correct choice to distract his thoughts from straying to Jim. Currently, Jim was in his ready room, entertaining a hail from the delegate from the planet Alle who, just that morning, sent the  _ Enterprise _ a long list of concerns. As the delegation’s travel plans were finalized, there was precious little else to do. 

Nyota finished typing in the next translation and sat back in her chair. “I need a break. What are you up to?”

Spock looked back to the science station and found the screen still idle. “I am waiting for Astronomy’s proposal to study the aurorae around Voestra Prime’s north pole, since we will be orbiting around the planet overnight,” Spock replied, noting to himself that the request was currently over thirty minutes past due. He looked around the bridge and saw the tedium waiting had caused. That morning, at 09:07, the  _ Enterprise _ reached the Voes star system and at warp one, and entered Voestra Prime’s atmosphere before noon. Now the ship rested in orbit, close enough to the surface to vent the ship and recycle the air. This always put the bridge in a better mood for the “fresh air,” though the effect was mostly placebic. 

He had hoped that placebo or not, this would buoy Jim’s spirit as well. It had not. 

He had the urge to go in and rescue Jim from these trivialities, but he did not want to insult a future member of the Federation, nor did he wish to annoy Jim by becoming a “mother hen,” of which he was often accused. 

Nyota cleared her throat and then directed her own gaze to the closed ready room door. “How’s everything going there?” she asked gently. 

Spock must not have been as discreet as he imagined. “He has finally submitted to seeking Dr. Kibir’s advice,” he reported in a lowered voice. 

She nodded. “Good. It’s about time.”

Spock nodded in agreement. He was not in the habit of speaking openly about his and Jim’s marriage, quite the opposite. Without the usual pervasive gossip mills of Starfleet, it would be possible for a new crew member to be completely ignorant of his and Jim’s relationship. Nyota, however, was his closest friend (besides Jim and, regrettably, the doctor) and had been for the last eight years.

“He is still… frightened.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“Neither do I,” Spock said quickly, lest she think he did. “But he becomes… singularly focused. He refuses help when it is offered and has decided to shoulder every responsibility at once… Sometimes I feel he is out of reach.” He was reminded of Winona’s orders and his own failure to satisfy them.

She smiled sympathetically. “So you still haven’t told him about—”

“No. I cannot now. It would be too much.”

The door to the ready room slid open and Spock left Nyota’s station with a brisk “Thank you, Miss Uhura,” before returning to his science station. He watched, waiting for Jim’s gaze to find him, but Jim went directly to the captain’s chair without sparing him a glance. Standing beside the chair, he leaned over the arm and jammed his finger into the comm button. “Mr. Scott, prepare to transport the delegates in ninety minutes.”

“Acknowledged, Captain,” Scott’s voice replied. 

Spock caught Nyota’s eye; three hours early. 

Jim straightened up and turned back to address the crew that looked at him in askance. “It seems the Delegation of Voestrei Independents are anxious to board. Mr. Chekov, can we get the  _ Enterprise _ into transporter range in time without leaving the atmosphere?”

“We can, we just need a little power from the engines.”

“Inform engineering, and plot in a heading for Mr. Sulu.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Mr. Spock, please alert the other relevant departments.”

“The reception?” Spock asked. 

Jim’s eyes flashed to him for a second before looking down. “To remain as scheduled, only lodging required presently. Miss Uhura, any more updates to the translator?” He went up to her station. 

“Nothing essential.”

“Then we go without. And Spock, remind the security team: dress uniforms are required.” He left the bridge with his jaw and shoulders tense. 

Nyota found Spock’s gaze again, but Spock just shook his head and returned to his station, still waiting for any word from astronomy. 

~~~

After returning to their quarters to change, Spock went to Dr. Kibir’s office in sickbay.

“Mr. Spock, to what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked after they sat in opposite chairs in front of her desk. Diazrid Kibir was a tall, Trill woman with cropped blonde hair, two long trails of the signature Trill markings down her body, and a penetrating gaze. When she crossed her legs at the knee and leaned over her data PADD, he felt suddenly like a patient.

He sat up straight and cleared his throat, a pesky human habit he had recently adopted. “I had a concern regarding Leona. I am unaware as to whether she brought it up in her session with you today… I know you cannot tell me, and I am not asking you to. I simply wanted to keep you apprised of the situation.”

Kibir sat back and lifted her PADD. “Alright?”

Spock was surprised by how fluidly she transformed from a therapist to a colleague. 

She picked up on whatever confusion he showed with a faint smile. “I admit, I’m a little disappointed. I’ve always been fascinated by Vulcan psychology.”

Spock felt his right eyebrow shoot upwards. “Oh. Thank you.”

“I was hoping you would give me some great psychic mystery to unravel.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“I look forward to it.” Unlike most humanoid races, Dr. Kibir said everything in a professional, but comforting monotone. Spock wondered if her obfuscation made him feel how others felt when they spoke to him. “Anyway,” she prompted, “about Leona?”

Spock nodded. “She has been having nightmares. Frequently.” He tried to see in her impartial expression if this was news to her or not, but the search was fruitless.

“I see.”

“I believe she suffered from frequent nightmares in the days after she was rescued, however during our time on Earth, they became less frequent. Since our last week on Earth, their frequency has increased again.” He considered sharing the mathematical calculations, but decided that those numbers were not as useful to her as they were to his understanding. 

“Can you tell me about these nightmares?”

“I do not know very much,” he admitted. “Most of them are some variation upon the trauma she experienced on the satellite, or at least what she remembers of it.” He paused and this time, Kibir did give a nod of recognition. “They frighten her and wake my husband up as well. Most concerning, their frequency is increasing. It was once every three nights, but the last four days, they have occurred every night. In the last night alone, there were two. On Earth, Jim would be able to read to her and she’d go back to bed, but now she prefers to stay with Jim… us for the night.”

“Is that what is concerning you the most?”

“No, it is not that. It is… they seem traumatic.”

“They probably are,” she replied frankly, making a note of something on her PADD screen. “Does she tell you about these dreams? What happens in them? What she sees?”

“No,” but he remembered the solemn fascination in Leo’s expression when she had started to tell him, before Jim interrupted. “Only a brief description.”

“What do you do then?”

“Jim comforts her and usually she goes back to sleep.”

“Does your husband see these dreams as well, or is he just awoken by Leo’s emotional state?”

“No… Actually, I am uncertain.”

“Hmm,” she hummed while she continued to type on her PADD. “Is that all?”

Spock thought for a moment before saying, “Yes. I suppose.” He wanted to leave the rest for Jim to tell her he came tomorrow, like he promised. “I don’t expect you to discuss this with Leo unless she introduces the topic, I just thought you should know,” he ended lamely.

Kibir leaned over her knees again and scrutinized Spock with her unreadable stare. “Mr. Spock, were you raised on Vulcan?”

Spock blinked. “Yes.”

“Do you subscribe to Surak?”

It was such an odd question, Spock again answered without hesitation. “The entire culture is structured around his teachings.”

“Logic above everything?” Spock was increasingly intrigued by this line of questioning and Kibir’s tone. She had not said “logic” with the usual disgust or condescension that tainted the word when others discussed Vulcan philosophy, many even on this ship. Instead, she was simply curious.

However kind her intonation was, though, an old rebellion rose in him. “Not everything,” he said. 

Her faint smile from before reappeared. “Of course not. I did not mean to be reductive.”

She waited for him to nod in forgiveness.

“Thank you for telling me. It’s always useful to have another perspective.” She put down her PADD and began to stand.

Spock stayed seated. “Is that all?” he asked impulsively.

Kibir stood by her chair. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Spock shook his head. “No—no. Thank you, doctor.” He stood, but before he reached the door, Kibir cleared her throat.

“What you told me is valuable. Trauma is very difficult. The Betazoid brain can suppress memories for years before allowing them to resurface. Having a record of this evolution to her memory will one day help her disentangle the nightmares from reality.

“She’s okay. She knows that there are people that want to help her, including you. She trusts you.” 

Spock left her office with a vote of confidence he had not known he needed, but before he could leave sickbay for the transporter room, Dr. McCoy hailed him as he emerged from his own office, looking supremely uncomfortable in his dress uniform.

“Oh, hey, Spock! Got a minute?”

Spock followed McCoy back through the door. The doctor interpreted Spock’s neutral expression as a question. “Wasn’t planning to go meet the delegation ‘til the reception, but Jim said one of the representatives was…  _ health conscious  _ and wanted a tour of sickbay first thing.” He shrugged and then fussed with his sleeve. “Ah, well…”

“Doctor, you needed me?” Spock reminded him.

“Right! Nothing serious, mind you, just a question for you and Jim,” he said. He leaned back the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. His finger tapped the opposite arm twice, then uncrossed again. “When Leo was up here earlier for her appointment with Dr. Kibir, Nida was waiting and she had mentioned that Leo had a headache.”

“Is she alright?” Spock interrupted. 

McCoy put his hands up to placate him. “Fine and dandy so far as I could tell; and Diazrid didn’t say anything. Anyways, Nida’d asked me if I was authorized to give the kid any medication, and that’s not a bad question, but I didn’t know the answer so I thought I’d ask.”

“While on board, you are her primary care physician. And we trust your professional judgement.”

“Thanks, but she’s not going to be on the  _ Enterprise _ forever, and neither will I. It’s not a bad idea to draw up some kind of document with Jim that says what her doctor can and can’t do without consulting either of you. You two, I can stick with pins and needles all day if I wanted to, but she’s not Starfleet.”

Spock shuddered. “Understood. Now I believe we should—”

The door to McCoy’s office slid open again to admit Jim, also in his dress uniform. He stopped to look them both up and down. “Handsome as always, gentlemen,” he greeted with a cheeky smile.

McCoy tugged at his collar dramatically. “Bad enough you make us hop into this get up once, but twice in a day!” he protested.

Jim went to Spock’s side and bumped his shoulder playfully. Jim gave him a skittish smile. “Hi, hon,” he muttered, before raising his head and shooting back at McCoy. “The reception’s only in a few hours—”

“Well I don’t know how well surgery’ll agree with the gold braid.”

Jim shared a grin with Spock, but Spock could easily see the tensed muscles under the expression. The sooner Jim could get this day over with, the better. Jim responded to his scrutiny with bemusement, but instead of asking, just raised his hand and combed through Spock’s bangs so they laid flat against his forehead, though Spock knew there was nothing awry to fix. “There,” Jim said warmly, “you look perfect.” 

Spock could at least appreciate his husband’s effort to appear cheerful.

“We should leave,” Spock reminded him.

Jim smiled and sighed, a universal indicator of amusement and frustration. “Why do you always have one eye on the clock?”

“Lay off. He’s the only thing keeping this ship on schedule anymore,” McCoy interrupted them, deliberately walking through them to get to the door. 

Jim regarded McCoy with a strange look as they followed the doctor out of the office. They fell into line in the corridor, a familiar formation of equals. They fell into line in the corridor, a familiar formation of equals. Spock, on Jim’s right, leaned in and updated his husband. “Dr. McCoy brought up a suggestion for Leo’s care that we have overlooked.”

Jim’s smile faltered. “What’s that?” he asked McCoy, snappish.

“It’s nothing serious, just some common sense,” McCoy said quickly. “We’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

“Good enough for me.” 

McCoy fell a step behind to shoot Spock a look. He had undoubtedly noticed Jim’s sour mood as well. Spock just shook his head and the doctor fell back in step with them. “By the way, I saw the kid today. ‘ _ Uncle Bones _ ?’”

Jim broke out into a genuine grin. Spock indulged in a smirk of his own.

“That’s your doing I take it?” McCoy accused Jim.

“Guilty,” Jim confessed. Spock silently admitted to his part as accomplice, as he had not exactly discouraged Leona in this nickname.

“I think you’ll adjust to your avuncular duties admirably,” Spock added to make McCoy’s scowl deepen and send Jim into another fit of giggles.

“See,” Jim said, gesturing across himself to Spock, “your stamp of approval.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The transporter room was crowded by sixteen security officers and the transporter technicians. Mr. Scott was there in his capacity as second officer, in his dress uniform as well (a stain on the tartan betrayed that he had been tampering with something mechanical before coming up). He spent several minutes reviewing all of the transporter settings before they brought the delegation aboard. 

Scott joined them by the door when they entered. “All’s set, sir,” he reported with a grin.

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. All we need is the delegation.” As the room realized the captain entered, the stopped and awaited instruction, somewhere between attention and at ease. Jim just nodded at them vaguely and issued a teasing, “You lot sure clean up well.” 

There was a general titter of laughter before everyone turned back to their business. “You know, command said this one was supposed to be easy,” Jim grumbled to them privately. Scott shrugged and McCoy made the face of keeping his thoughts “well and to himself.” Spock sighed. 

Jim shrugged too. “Anyway.” He went over to the transporter console to signal the bridge that they were ready.

Scott nudged Spock’s elbow. “Rough day for the captain, eh?” he asked. Both he and McCoy turned to look expectantly at Spock. Spock just raised his eyebrows and nodded with an expression he hoped was thoughtful.

Nyota’s voice came over the comm a moment later. “The delegation is in position,” she reported. The security officers broke into two lines flanking the transporter pad and leading to the door where McCoy, Spock, and Scott stood. Jim joined them and then nodded to the technician at the console. “Beam ‘em up.”

~~~

Despite all his best efforts, Spock arrived back to his quarters after the reception at 20:09, and alone. He thanked (and apologized to) Nida profusely and then went to check on Leo. She slept deeply in her bed. She had pulled the blanket into a cocoon around her and had curled in on herself, her dark mass of curly hair layed around her head like sun’s rays. She looked peaceful.

Dr. Kibir’s words from that afternoon came back to him. “She trusts you.”

He hoped that in time he would earn that trust. She was just a child…

~~~

Spock woke when he sensed another presence in the room with him. In the time it took for him to open his eyes and for his internal chronometer to adjust, he thought it was Jim, finally back and falling into bed, but as his eyes focused, he saw it was Leo. She stood at his bedside, quietly crying. “Spock?” she sniffled.

Spock propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head. “Leo?”

“I had a bad dream and Daddy didn’t come find me,” she explained in hyperventilation.

He ordered the lights to twenty-three percent brightness. 

Spock’s ears picked up the increased rapidity of her breathing as the light confirmed Leo’s fears, Jim was not there. Her black eyes went wide and she cast around her gaze as if she expected him to materialize any moment. 

“Where is he?” Her voice grew high and thin and her fingers picked at the long sleeves of her pajamas.

Spock confirmed his internal chronometer with the time on screen on the bedside shelf. 02:35. It was indeed disquieting that Jim had not returned yet, but he did not need to share this with Leona; as an extra precaution, he kept his mind especially guarded when he spoke next. “Something must have come up. He will be back soon.”

She set her mouth in a tight, frustrated line and fixed him with a desperate glare. “No he won’t!”

Spock yawned, but sat up. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“I can’t feel him!”

“Were you in the dark place?”

She huffed and sobbed and fell to the ground beside the bed.

_ Oh no _ . Spock slipped out of bed and crouched down beside her. “What was your nightmare about?” he asked softly. She did not respond until he reached out and touched her shoulder. 

She leaned into the connection and soon, they sat cross-legged and side by side on the floor next to the bed. She told him about a loud noise. She was in the dark place, crouched with her hands over her ears, but she could hear it so loudly it hurt, then she woke up, and found Jim was gone. She ended the account folded at the waist and had made a pillow for her head with her arms crossed over his knee. 

Having witnessed Jim do it countless times to comfort her, Spock tentatively raised his hand over her head and began to pet her hair. Even though she was still upset and Spock still felt woefully out of his depth, the meditative movement of his hand calmed him. It reminded him, ironically, of the soothing properties of petting a tribble, but it made sense. Most sentient races professed a feeling of fulfillment found in attending to a smaller creature that relied on one’s care. As he touched her, he kept careful counsel of his thoughts. Even though he was a mature and practiced telepath, Leo’s psychic abilities were unpredictable and he did not want her to push into his mind and find the fear and anxiety present there. 

After four minutes of this comfort, she sniffled and raised her head. Spock let his hand fall and relaxed his mental barriers. “Are you calm enough to return to bed?” Spock asked. 

“Daddy didn’t read to me today,” she replied, fixing him with her round black eyes. 

Spock folded his hands in his lap. “Did Nida?”

She sighed precociously. “Yeah, but only a couple pages. And she does too many voices.”

Spock did not quite understand why, but he knew Jim would have laughed at that. What he did understand was Leo’s veiled request. “Only one more page,” he relented.

“Can I stay after?”

“We shall see,” he said, invoking the hundreds of memories he had of his mother using the same deflection.

She shot up to her feet and rushed to the other room to retrieve her and Jim’s newest endeavor, an Earth classic about a “silly bear” Spock had not heard of before Jim picked it up in San Francisco. He sat on the bed waiting for her and when she arrived, they leaned back against the headboard and he read three pages—just to finish the chapter. 

~~~

The second time Spock was woken that night, Leo was still fast asleep, tucked into his side like she always did with Jim. He registered that it had only been a few minutes since he and Leo had fallen asleep.

He heard a rustling in the room, and he opened his eyes to see a large shadow rifling through a drawer. Spock tensed, an arm circling around Leo, before his eyes focused and he saw it was Jim. 

Jim turned with his hands up, one clutching his pajama shirt. “It’s just me,” he whispered, laughing breathily. “It’s just me.”

He came around the bed and knelt by Spock’s side. Spock propped himself up on his elbows with the intent to interrogate Jim on why he was so late, but Jim swallowed the question with a sudden kiss. Jim’s hands held Spock’s face, but Spock was so surprised, he could not decipher the deluge of emotions that transferred between them. Spock tried to channel their bond, but by the time he got control, Jim’s hands fell and he sat back on his heels. He looked at Spock with an unreadable expression until a muscle in his mouth shifted and he had made a decision. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. 

He seemed so much more repentant than Spock would have thought the situation demanded. Spock was never reticent to forgive… “Leo…”

Spock twisted, looking down at the child, but Jim interrupted, “No, no, let her sleep. I just…it’s been a long day.”

Loathe to invite the cold air of the ship into bed, Spock weighed the moment and decided to slip his hand out from under the blanket and hold out two fingers anyway, which Jim met sweetly.

“What kept you?” Spock’s voice rumbled. He could not read anything more from his husband with the touch.

Jim just shook his head and massaged his forehead. “Nothing… well, it turned out to be nothing anyway. I’ll tell you in the morning.” He leaned forward once again to place a kiss on Spock’s cheek, before he stood and Spock laid back down. When he settled, Leo found his chest and buried her head there. The last thing Spock saw before he closed his eyes was Jim’s fond expression watching them both as he paused on the way to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kindest regards to Memory Alpha, Memory Beta, the fantasy name generator, and my beta andydear
> 
> I hope this makes up for the last chapter's stagnancy, things will really start to take off in the next one.  
> Drop a comment if you're enjoying it!  
> Or find me @fairwellersmustache on tumblr
> 
> Chapter Four: "Minding the Store" will be posted September 24th, so subscribe to stay tuned!


	4. “Minding the Store”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock wakes to a mystery brewing on the Enterprise. While Jim’s investigation takes him planetside, Spock is left on board to play detective.

Undestined, ever, to receive a full night of sleep again, they were all woken by a persistent bosun’s whistle two hours later at 04:43. 

“Security to Captain Kirk,” the comm’s speaker warbled into focus as they woke.

Spock’s eyes opened easily, Jim and Leo’s… less so. Leo’s eyelids were still fluttering when Jim unwrapped her arms from around his neck (she had found him even in sleep) and he sat up.

Spock sat up as well, accepting Leo, who was refusing to let Jim go, but fell heavily against Spock and wrapped her arms around his neck instead after some coaxing. Still half asleep, Jim stood. Spock sent a questioning look to his husband, but Jim just shrugged his shoulders and dragged his hand down his face. 

“Security to Captain Kirk, please acknowledge.”

Barely picking up his feet, Jim trudged out of their bedroom. Before the door could slide back closed, Spock picked up Leo and followed. Leo had fallen asleep again, if she had ever woken up. Her head fell heavily on his shoulder and her breathing was shallow and even. He stood in the doorframe as he watched Jim lean heavily on the desk and tap the comm button with his fist. “Kirk,” he acknowledged, voice rough with sleep.

Chief Security Officer Kanykei Satarov’s voice responded, “Sir, Representative Bartichs has been found dead in his quarters.”

Jim did not snap into the authoritative confidence of his captaincy as quickly as he usually did. Instead, he closed his eyes slowly and took a long breath.

“Murdered?”

“That’s the current assumption.”

Spock could not place the expression etched into Jim’s face… guilt? A grimace of pain?

He wanted to ask. Spock did not like being so out of step with Jim, it felt wrong. It felt dangerous. 

“Jim.”

Leo shifted in his arms, one of the hands that had been draped around his neck fell by her side, so he readjusted his arms to hold her more securely and reminded himself not to wake her. 

“Sir?” Satarov’s voice crackled from the speaker again.

Jim hit the button again. “Yeah… okay. Okay. Get your officers on the rest of the delegation, confine them to their quarters for the time being. And someone tell engineering to get the universal translator up and running again. We’ll go on yellow alert for now… I’ll be there. I’m on my way.” He lifted his fist from the button and froze, taking three more meditative breaths, before raising his eyes to meet Spock’s.

“I will ask Miss Abbassi to come,” Spock said quietly as Jim pushed himself upright and walked back to their room. 

Jim shook his head as he passed. “No. I’ll go. You stay with the kid.” He paused just long enough to brush back Leo’s mane of hair from her face.

“You need sleep,” Spock argued to Jim’s back as he pulled out a clean uniform. A small light above the door frame blinked yellow.

“No, I need you to mind the store while I solve a fucking murder,” he said with a dark humor. He disappeared into the bathroom.

Spock carefully laid Leo back down on the bed and Jim leaned over and helped Spock pull the blanket over her after returning to the room, having changed into a pair of pants and a black undershirt. His face was still wet from a heavily truncated performance of his morning ablutions.

“I do not require sleep, I am already fully rested,” Spock said carefully, when Jim looked longingly down to the bed.

Jim jerked up, as if caught, but shook his head. “Good for you, but I’m the captain. I’m the one on the hook here, babe.”

Spock set his mouth in a particularly emotionless expression that he knew bothered Jim as much as Jim’s refusal of simple logic bothered him. Jim saw it, scowled and then turned away to pull a command gold uniform shirt from its hanger.

‘If you continue to refuse yourself proper sleep, I will ask Dr. McCoy to put you on medical leave,” Spock said, stepping around the foot of the bed so that they did not continue to argue over the sleeping Leo, an image that unsettled Spock before he could even process it.

“Threats before five a.m.?”Jim grumbled.

Spock quirked an eyebrow. Despite knowing that Spock would in fact do this, as there was precedent of this very situation, Jim insisted on calling his bluff. “You are stressed, you have not been sleeping.”

“I’ll take a nap.”

“The crew has noticed.”

“I’ll take a nap  _ soon _ .”

Spock pursed his lips.

Jim held out his arm toward Spock, holding his gold uniform shirt in hand. “You wanna be captain? It’s yours if you want it. Take it.”

Spock started back and looked at the offending shirt until Jim’s stance faltered and he became embarrassed by his own challenge.

Spock felt… hurt. Hurt by Jim’s anger, hurt by his accusation.

Beside them, Leo rolled over and curled up again, taking the blankets with her, but she didn’t wake.

“It is time I must meditate,” Spock said stiffly.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed, “I gotta go.” He pulled on his shirt and with it, it seemed, the entirety of the  _ Enterprise  _ too. Spock did not want to see it, so he passed Jim and went to the closet to retrieve his warm meditation robe. 

“Um… hey, Spock?” 

He turned at Jim’s soft voice. Truly, Spock was not reticent to forgive Jim. For anything. 

Jim stepped closer, “When Leo asks don’t… just please don’t tell her someone died. I don’t want her to be scared of… you know?”

Spock nodded curtly. “I will tell her something else.”

Jim nodded back then tried to smile, then took another tentative step toward Spock, then turned and left.

~~~

Spock was unable to meditate, but did manage to doze off twice as he sat cross legged on his low perch beside the sofa. Even if he was unable to slip into his usual peaceful exercise, he forced himself to spend the two hours in the pursuit of it.

He dwelled far too long on his and Jim’s last conversation and without benefit. He could not find deeper meaning in it other than the obvious facts: Jim did not mean it, he was tired and annoyed; Spock pushed too far, he had confused his concern for his husband with his desire to be proven right; both of them were under inordinate stress and neither of them were dealing with it well. 

Still, a pinpoint of paranoia poked through. Jim did not know, yet he came so close to guessing it.

Spock had not told Jim everything he had agreed to with Starfleet. Their first two weeks in San Francisco, while Jim focused on learning how to care for Leo, and adjusting to the strange bond they shared, it fell to Spock to make arrangements with Starfleet. It was a long process, not helped by their rebellious history (Spock had also been the one to smooth things over after their hasty wedding) but easy enough once Spock highlighted the scientific advantage— words falling like ash from his mouth even as he said them. One of the concessions was Dr. Kibir and the requirement to release all their findings to Starfleet. 

The one Spock had not told Jim was what he traded for Miss Abbassi’s service. 

Since the last year of their first mission, Starfleet had continually offered him a command. So far, all of the offers had been optional and Spock had gotten into the habit of turning them down. Now, the next time a captaincy was offered, he was obliged to take it.

Jim wanted the three of them to be a family, a stable unit, but Spock already “had one foot out the door,” he believed was the phrase.

When he emerged from his mental fog, the yellow alert had ended, but there was no sign of Jim’s return.

Leo was quiet that morning. She asked where Jim was and Spock replied only that there was a situation that he had to investigate. She did not find the answer totally satisfactory, but she did not question him further. She ate breakfast without complaint and did at least one of Dr. Kibir’s recommended meditation exercises. 

Just after Nida collected Leo for the day, Spock received the message he had been waiting for all morning, a call for senior officers to meet in the briefing room first thing after shift change. 

Spock arrived promptly five minutes before the appointed time—any earlier would have been illogical for the occasion—and took a seat at the long table beside Dr. McCoy, who, with a half-drunk mug of coffee, must have been at least fifteen minutes early. Dr. Kibir was early as well. Her eyes darted furtively around the room and Spock recognized the humanoid expression of nervousness. As resident ship’s counselor, she was considered a senior officer aboard, but this was the first time this designation had been implemented. She would be the youngest among them and was no doubt intimidated by this particular group of officers that had all served several years together by now. 

Mr. Sulu, also early, though not as early as the doctors judging by his warmer and fuller cup, tried to engage her in “small talk,” but she fumbled through the pleasantries and the conversation abruptly ended.

Scott and Nyota arrived together. He stopped before entering and gestured for Nyota to enter first; an old fashioned gallantry that Jim also enjoyed exhibiting.

Spock raised his eyebrow, but Nyota did not say anything other than, “‘Morning, Spock.” 

Conspicuously absent were Lt. Cmdr. Satarov, the Chief of Security, Mr. Chekov, and of course, Jim, who had called the meeting. One minute after the meeting time, when Scott was in the middle of asking Spock where the captain was, the screen on the wall flickered to life. 

Onscreen, sitting behind a table in an ornate marble room were Jim, Chekov and Satarov. 

“Good morning everyone,” Jim greeted the general surprised murmur that passed through the room. He smiled briefly and his gaze flicked above to something offscreen but he continued. “By now, I’m sure you’ve all heard that early this morning, Representative Bartichs of Voestra Prime was found dead in his quarters.” He waited for them to respond with a nod and then turned to Satarov and gestured for her to continue.

“We were initially suspicious of foul play, and raised the  _ Enterprise _ to yellow alert. During our investigation, we discovered that shortly after Representative Bartichs’ estimated time of death of three hundred hours, one of his aides, Mr. Brizud, requested to be transported down back to the capitol so at six hundred hours, Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Chekov, and I pursued by shuttle, believing Mr. Brizud was the representative’s assailant. When we arrived, we learned that the aide was dispatched by another representative to report Bartichs’ death.” Lt. Cmdr. Kanykei Satarov was usually a stoic woman, which had been the basis of Spock’s respect for her upon first meeting, but as she spoke, she continually glanced up over the camera to the same spot offscreen Jim kept referencing. She was not panicked; Spock interpreted her look as suspicion more than anything. 

One thing was clear: they were being very closely watched. 

“We now believe that Representative Bartichs died of natural causes,” Jim said. Something about his voice was strained, strange, bitter perhaps. Spock looked around the room and noted the crew’s expressions. McCoy was scowling over the rim of his mug, deep in thought while Dr. Kibir watched the screen with rapt interest. Scott and Sulu wore expressions of confusion and distrust equal to Satarov’s. Nyota was frowning at typing very quickly into the computer console in front of her. 

“The governor of Voestra Prime,” Jim’s gaze rose offscreen again, “was very kind to let us stay here for a while while we regroup and he assigns a new representative. So hopefully we can be back enroute before tonight—Spock if you could inform Scravvel of our delay once we’re done here?” 

Spock nodded. 

“Sir?” Nyota asked. 

Jim nodded for her to continue. 

“It says here in the security log that the representative had lesions on his skull…” the unasked question hung heavily in the air. 

To Jim’s right, Chekov looked anxiously at him, to his left, Satarov pursed her lips and looked down at her hands. Jim did not look at either of them. “It’s alright, that’s what we were all thinking too. However, the governor was very patient in explaining to us that just before and after death, the skin around a Voestrei’s skull becomes very weak and those lesions, especially if there was a fall, are a natural occurrence in Voestrei biology.” He leveled his gaze at McCoy and McCoy responded with a twitch of his eye and a discreet nod that satisfied Jim, but not Spock.

“Was there a fall then?” he asked.

“It is a possibility given the position his body was found.” He paused again before continuing. “I've informed them that by Starfleet regulation we are only allowed to return the body after a full autopsy.”

McCoy’s brow furrowed then relaxed. “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. Mr. Sulu, get the ship back in transporter range of the capitol. Scotty you can get a lock on us once we are, and we’ll notify you later when we’re ready to return with the new delegate.”

“Aye, sir,” Scott replied. 

“Mr. Spock, for the time being, you have command,” Jim said with a ruefully ironic twist of his lips. 

A voice, too far from the comm element to be understood said something and the three officers looked up again. They broke into polite smiles.

“Thank you, Governor,” Chekov said.

“Sounds good,” Jim said, then he looked back down. “I’ll be in contact, as I said, we won’t be more than a few hours…We are, of course, saddened by the death of Representative Bartichs as he embarked on this mission of peace, but I think this time will be valuable for discovering the intricacies of Voestrite culture. That’s it, you’re all dismissed except… Mr. Spock?” He looked off screen again and there was more rustling and Satarov and Chekov stood to leave. Around Spock, the other officers stood still and looked to him expectantly. He waited for Jim’s instruction.

He spoke again to the governor offscreen. “No, I’ll be there in a minute…” his smile melted into a performative blush. “Yeah, my husband. Gotta make sure he doesn’t wanna kill me for sneaking off the ship without telling him…” a boom of laughter and Jim’s own easy chuckle. “No, you’ll be fine, Mr. Chekov has the portable translator.” There was another exchange and another volley of laughter. “No, no. Might be loud, but won’t be long. Spock, still there?”

Spock felt every crew members’ eyes on him and heat rose to his face. He cleared his throat and stood, distinctly looking at nothing but the far wall. “You have your orders, you’re dismissed” Spock said to a room that was almost empty by the end of the sentence.

When he turned back around, he saw that Jim was also in an empty room, fixing him with a heavy-browed stare.

“Jim,” Spock began.

“Sorry to do that, it was the only way I could think they’d leave me alone—Something’s up.” His fake smile and easy humor were gone as he talked to Spock. He pulled his chair closer to the table and hunched confidentially around the viewscreen. “I promised I’d tell you why I was so late last night, so here it is:

“Bartichs approached me at the reception last night, asked if I would meet him after. He wouldn’t say why, only that he was ‘thinking of Voestra Prime’s place in the Federation.’ It looked like he kept trying to leave, but each time, he got dragged back to the party by his aide.

“When he was finally able to slip out, I waited fifteen minutes and followed. When I was outside his quarters, he wouldn’t let me in. He said through the door—he said it in standard, I remember his accent and because the translator was disabled in the sector where all the delegates were—he said he didn’t want to talk to me anymore, that he was mistaken. I have no idea about what… I’ve got theories, but anyway, that’s when I came back last night, around three.”

“02:47” Spock supplied.

“Yeah.” Jim shook his head. “I don’t know, Spock, but something stinks… Satarov and Chekov think so too, so we agreed to stay. We think we might get some answers down here if we poke in the right places.”

“Do the Voestrei know Bartichs asked to meet with you?”

Jim glanced reflexively over his shoulder. “No clue. The aide could’ve told them, though.”

“You are in danger,” was Spock’s immediate analysis.

“Probably,” Jim said with a woeful smirk.

“I will be more useful to you down there. Once the ship is in range—”

“No. Not happening. Out of the question. Only one of us off the ship when Leo’s on board, remember? That’s what we decided. No one else comes down, you understand?”

Spock closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes.” Jim’s prohibition was frustratingly logical.

Jim’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke next. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s some reason Bartichs didn’t think Voestra Prime should be part of the Federation and I think he got killed for it. We’re going to work on finding out why, and I need you to—“

“Mind the store?” Spock supplemented, a bitterness he did not intend leaking into his voice.

Jim looked surprised then upset. “No, I—No. Look, I’m sorry about what happened this morning, but I don’t know why you’re angry with me right now! Just—can we just get through this?”

“I did not intend…”

Jim kneaded at the base of his neck. “Yeah. Me neither. Let’s just… Catch up the crew at your discretion. Don’t advertise it, but you know… Prioritize the autopsy, I don’t want natural causes, I want to know exactly what happened, there can be no question of murder. Security pulled corridor surveillance for that sector, they should be done picking through it by now. And also, you know, just keep the delegates calm. I talked to them all before we left but… just tell them it’s all routine, we’re just being thorough, and keep the security officers on them just in case… and take care of Leo.”

“You have left me little choice in this matter.”

Jim looked incredulous. “You really want to fight about this now?”

“No.”

“Then you really do want me to apologize for leaving this morning?”

Spock did not refute Jim’s assumption. 

Jim scoffed and fell back against his chair. “Okay then—“

“Not now. It would be meaningless.”

Jim let out a low whistle. “You’re damn right.” the door opened behind him and a young Voestrei stood in the doorway, Jim looked back. “That’s my time,” he told Spock, “I gotta go.”

Spock was quiet until Jim’s hand hovered over the control board in front of the screen when he blurted out, “Be safe,  _ ashayam _ .”

Jim paused, and looked back at Spock. He looked apologetic at least. “Thanks,” he breathed. “Thank you. I love you.”

Jim waited long enough for Spock to nod, and then pushed the button and the viewscreen went black.

Spock took several moments in the empty briefing room to collect himself and his emotions, before reporting to the bridge. 

~~~

After he contacted a very irate Voestrei official on Scravvel with their updated travel plans, he reviewed the footage from security. In the captain’s ready room, he sat at Jim’s desk and watched through a sped up version of the tape three times. At 02:24, Bartichs returns to his quarters accompanied by an aide, Brizud, and another delegate, Representative Izire of the planet Alle. In the frame of the security camera, Bartich’s quarters were in the lower left and Izire’s were one door away, further up on the screen. 

Bartichs stopped for approximately one minute and forty-five seconds, appearing to say goodnight to Izire and the aide, and Izire disappeared into her quarters. Brizud and Bartichs lingered in the hallway for another thirty seconds before Bartichs let them both into his quarters. The aide emerged two minutes later and left the camera view at 02:29. At 02:34, Jim appeared. Just barely in frame, only the back of his head showing, he stopped for two minutes and at 02:36 went to Bartich’s door and requested access to his quarters. He stayed until 02:40 and then left, walking back out of frame. 

No one else appeared until 04:19, when Representative Izire emerged from her quarters and stopped at Bartich’s door. She waited six minutes until she appeared to grow worried and used a wall-mounted comm panel to summon security, and by 04:30, the gamma shift security team had cordoned off the quarters and summoned Lt. Cmdr. Satarov to open the investigation. 

As he waited for McCoy to perform the autopsy, Spock satisfied his own investigative curiosity by visiting Bartichs’ quarters. A security officer, Tanjung, who was posted in the hall led him through the scene. “We’ve left it all pretty much as it was, sir,” he told Spock, “except for removing Mr. Bartichs of course.”

Spock nodded. Everything according to the letter in regards to a murder investigation. Spock first stood in the doorway, waiting to see if anything jumped out at him. All of the delegates were given their own guest quarters while their aides were asked to room below. Because the treaty signing on Scravvel was going to be an historic moment for the Voestrei, many of the delegates had brought their partners and, being a largely polygamous race, required the larger suites, bigger even than his and Jim’s cabin was. Bartichs and Izire, his neighbor, however, were the only two that had come alone, and so, were issued smaller suites at the end of the hall. It was laid out similarly to the guest suite turned cabin that Spock and Jim now shared, with sleeping areas and living areas separated, but Bartichs’ suite only had one bedroom. 

These rooms, like the other guest quarters, were decorated with impressive but inoffensive art and sculpture. The only sign of upset in this room was a fallen vase of flowers that had once resided on the desk. Tanjung explained that the floor in front of the desk was where the body was found. Spock saw the silvery stain of Voestrei blood on the carpet that confirmed this. 

Next was the bedroom. Spock expected to see more evidence of Bartichs here. Since the delegation boarded early, Bartichs had plenty of time to unpack before the reception, however none of his personal items appeared to make it far from his luggage, one closed hard-sided suitcase that rested on a shelf beside the inset closet. Formally and regardless of gender, Voestrei wore knee length robes and slimly cut trousers beneath—reminiscent of Vulcan attire, Spock noted with a touch of approval. Three such tunics hung in the closet next to their coordinating trousers. 

Spock remembered Bartichs from the day before. Like all the Voestrei, he was five to seven inches taller than the average humanoid, forty-five percent of the height difference was composed of the elongated skull. Compared to his fellows, however, Bartichs was neither tall nor short, neither stocky nor slim. Like all Voestrei, he was completely bald and his skin had a metallic or grayish undertone caused by the high volume of mercury in his blood. The only distinguishing feature Spock remembered was that Bartichs wore glasses, rimless circular lenses with a clear plasticine bridge and temples. At their introduction in the transporter room, he was neither confident nor paranoid. Spock had perhaps noticed that he took a special interest in Jim, but he had no reason to disbelieve Jim’s story, which easily accounted for that.

Laid out on the still neatly made bed was a silken sleeping robe. Conclusion: Bartichs did not know he was about to die.

“Mr. Bartichs was found by the desk? When Dr. Ruan conducted the preliminary examination, was he able to estimate a time of death?” Spock asked.

Tanjung nodded and followed Spock out of the bedroom and back to the living room. “About three in the morning. But he said he wasn’t sure on account of we don’t know much about the Voestrei biology.”

Spock nodded as he examined the desk closer. 

“We checked all the tech logs, the last time his door was activated was for his aide leaving at 02:28. But Captain Kirk was requesting access only a couple minutes later,” Tanjung’s voice faltered nervously as Spock looked at him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I reviewed the footage already. Have all of his personal effects been preserved as they were found?” Spock asked, eyeing the living space in case he had missed anything.

“Aye sir...Why? Is there something missing, sir?”

“I have no evidence, but it is unusual that Mr. Bartichs did not travel with any personal data devices.”

Tanjung nodded quickly and added, “He used his computer console at 02:30, but we don’t know what he was looking at because we don’t track the computer activity of Federation ambassadors.”

“He wasn’t a Federation ambassador,” Spock corrected.

“Not yet… respectfully, sir.” Tanjung replied. “We had permission from the captain to implement the privacy measures early ‘cause it’d take too long to do it for all of them before we left Scravvel, when they would be. Wouldn’t be able to understand it anyway; they don’t know standard, it’s all in Voestrei… Voestrite?”

“The second,” Spock said as he activated the monitor. As Tanjung had said, the interface had been translated to Voestrite, but due his intimate familiarity with the system, Spock was able to navigate to the history log and access it using his rank. He still could not understand any of the entries, but he selected to bring up the most recent. “The universal translator,” he said, recognizing the layout of the screen from how often it appeared at Nyota’s workstation. This version of the program wasn’t nearly as versatile, but it allowed the user to input a phrase and delivered the same phrase translated to the desired language.

Spock brought up the history log again and went further into the code to figure out Bartich’s activity in the program. It had only been active from 02:29 until 02:34 and then idled until the monitor deactivated automatically. In the code, he could decipher more, because it was still written in standard, so he could clearly see where and when Bartichs had entered the phrases, however the input itself was still in Voestrite. The output… Spock frowned. He should have known as he helped code the way the computer would display languages beside standard. The output phrases, while when pronounced would sound like standard, were by default delivered to the user using the Voestrite alphabet. 

Spock stared at the long list of returns, attempting to decipher the foreign letters of the Voestrite alphabet, but it was useless for himself to try. He could, however, deduce that up until the moment Jim arrived at the delegate’s door, Bartichs still wanted to talk to him. “Mr. Tanjung, include these observations in the security report.” Tanjung nodded and hurried around the desk to look over Spock’s shoulder and record his findings on a dataPADD. Spock reached over to the comm button to notify Nyota that he would be sending her both the input and output to translate, but paused when he saw a glint of odd reflection on the desktop.

Just next to the desk’s comm panel was a ring of water, where the vase used to be. 

Spock knew as part of the preparation that had to be rushed due to the delegation's early arrival was the floral delivery. The resident botanist outfited each guest quarters with a vase of fresh flowers, for Bartichs, a bouquet of crystilia whose orange and yellow blooms complimented the speckled blue vase (all of which was still on the floor around where Bartichs had been found). With an unsteady hand, some water could have easily sloshed out of the vase and settled into a ring around the circular base, marking exactly where it had been. And once he looked closer, though it had blended in with the gray desktop earlier, Spock could detect two smears of a metallic liquid on the edge of the desk, one long, near the corner, and one, smaller, closer to the comm panel than the vase had been. 

“Sir?” Tanjung’s voice broke into Spock’s musing and startled him back into the present. Spock straightened up to look back and apologetically, Tanjung gestured to the screen, stammering that Spock was in his way. 

Spock stood and went around the desk. Crouching down, he formulated a narrative of Bartichs’ last moments. Though still unknown as to why, Bartichs collapses next to the desk, hitting his head on the edge near the corner. Still conscious, he touches his head and comes away with blood on his hand. Realizing the extent of his injury, he reaches up for the comm an indeterminate amount of times. On one attempt, his hand brushes the edge of the desk, leaving blood behind. On another, likely later when his arm is weaker and coordination failing, he misses entirely and brings down the vase. 

As grim as it was, it did confirm what security’s footage showed; Bartichs was alone when he died. And though the death was sudden, if it was murder, it was not a violent attack. Poison, likely.

Spock stood and returned to the console after Tanjung was done and compiled the translations for Nyota, informing her over the comm. Until Dr. McCoy finished the autopsy, it was fruitless to speculate further. Spock left the representative’s suite prepared to wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The murder part of this murder mystery!  
> Thanks as always to Memories Alpha and Beta, Fantasy Name Generator, and my reader andydear.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying it after an admittedly slow start, but I’m new to plotting things longer than 100 pages so I’m still learning how to pace properly, esp. in a sequel.
> 
> Chapter Five: “Tin Man,” will be posted on October 1st. Subscribe to stay tuned!


	5. "Tin Man"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock continues his investigation but becomes waylaid by a strange episode.

Spock emerged from Bartichs’ quarters to find one of the Voestrei delegates arguing with another security officer in front of the next door down. Spock recognized her as Izire of Alle, who had walked back with Bartichs the night before. 

They looked at him as he and Tanjung exited and Izire left the other officer to come to him. Izire was short by Voestrei standards, her eyes level with Spock’s chin, though her skull extended to his height. She wore clothing very similar to the flowing tunics and finely woven matching pants he saw in Bartichs’ cabin, but her tunic had a hood which draped gracefully over the crown of her skull. “Commander Spock?” she asked impatiently, the jerky movement almost upsetting the hood.

He nodded and folded his hand behind his back. “Ma’am?” 

“Tell me why I must be shadowed like an infant taking its first steps by this boy here?” she demanded.

Young Ensign Asrat swallowed nervously under Spock’s scrutiny but continued to hover a few paces away.

“Mr. Asrat has been assigned to you for your protection while we determine Mr. Bartichs’ cause of death,” Spock said.

Izire’s thin lips pulled into a frown. “You do not know yet? Are you not the Starfleet that the Federation talks always of? Your science and your medicine? Are they no good for us.”

“We cannot make an official statement until the autopsy is completed” Spock wanted to push past her and make his way to sickbay, but his obligation to the ship and his rank forced him to entertain this interruption. 

“How could you not know?” She lost her irate manner and posed the question genuinely, as if it were obvious.

Spock stood, surprised. 

She watched his eyebrows rise and her dark metallic eyes softened. “You really  _ don’t  _ know,” she realized. “All of your knowledge and this alludes you?”

“Representative Izire, may I speak with you inside?” he asked, gesturing down the hall to the door to her quarters, which she had just left.

Izire’s quarters were identical to Bartichs’, but unlike Bartichs’ pristine order, Izire’s room showed copious evidence of its inhabitant. A piece of Voestrei technology that closely resembled a dataPADD rested on the built in sofa, three tea cups were stacked next to an empty teapot in the center of the dining table, a batik scarf was draped fetchingly over the back of a dining chair and another, more substantial wrap lay crumpled on the seat of the desk chair. The vase of Earth roses had been relocated to a shelf and the desk was cluttered with papers and a pair of eyeglasses, similar to Bartichs’ in fashion, but more square and with a frame running across the brow. Amongst the desk clutter, Spock noticed a picture frame containing an image of a decades younger Izire with two Voestrei men and three children of various ages. 

Like Bartichs, she was the only other representative not to bring guests. “My youngest, her first baby is due soon, and one of my spouses, he cannot travel to, for his health,” she explained. She watched Spock take in his surroundings so closely that Spock was far more aware of her presence, than that of any evidence.

“Forgive the mess,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Unlike some others representing the delegation, I know there’s still work to do before this whole treaty signing circus. A century’s long war doesn’t end just like that!” She threw her hands up in the air and fell into the sofa. After a long exhale, she waved toward the opposite chair, inviting Spock to sit.

He did. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She shrugged and sighed. “What could you not discuss in the hall? What happened to Bartichs?”

“We will not assign a cause of death until—”

“Yes, yes, you are all very sure of yourselves for people so ignorant of our biology that you cannot even recognize—”

“Please, ma’am. I plan only to take approximately three minutes of your time.”

She frowned, but arranged herself neatly in her seat, prepared for interrogation. “Very well.”

“Our security footage shows that you walked back to your quarters with Mr. Bartichs.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, that is true. With Brizud, his aide”

“Did you know him?”

“Brizud? Not at all… but you mean Bartichs? Yes, I knew him,” her voice grew soft at a memory.

“What was your relationship with the deceased?”

“Is this a formal interrogation?” She leaned forward, silver flecked eyes narrowing. “I was already questioned by the captain and security chief this morning. After all of us were rounded up and assigned this infantilizing security detail, I may add.”

“No ma’am, this is not an interrogation, but Captain Kirk and Commander Satarov’s investigation has taken them down to the planet and I must conclude their inquiry here. I ask for my own edification; you are not obligated to answer these questions.”

“I will tell you what I told your captain, then: I said goodnight to Bartichs and Brizud and went into my quarters and tried to sleep. At around 02:30, I heard a muffled voice and a thump, but I didn’t think anything of it. I couldn’t sleep so I got out of bed and made this mess,” she said, gesturing to the desk. Then I think that Bartichs may not be able to sleep either. I don’t know if you’re aware, but when we came up here from Voestra Prime, it was early morning there. At four in the morning here, it was not yet midnight to us. Duhrer of Savos III contacted me earlier and said that he was having drinks in his suite, I didn’t want to go, but I thought it was a pretty good idea, so I used the comm to call Bartichs and I did not get a response.

“I was bored and he didn’t call back, so I went over and when there wasn’t any response still, I started to get worried. I used the comm panel in the hall to call your security because I knew the comm in the hall would still translate my voice where the one in my suite wouldn’t.”

Spock nodded. He could not detect any signs of dishonesty, in fact, Izire showed all the signs of being completely earnest. “Did you not think he had fallen asleep, as you had attempted before yourself?” 

“No. Since we met on Voestra Prime again in preparation for this excursion, he’d complained of insomnia.”

“Do you know what was the cause?”

She shrugged. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Before, when you heard the voice and the noise, what did you hear him say?”

Izire thought and then shrugged. “I don’t know. A bunch of gibberish it sounded like.”

”And this was not strange to you?”

“When I heard the thump, I figured he had tripped or something and cursed. He’s very clumsy.” She had almost smiled, but then sobered at the remembrance of his death. “Was.”

Spock frowned. The possibility of Bartichs’ death being natural or accidental was increased exponentially by this fact. He folded his hands in front of him and bowed his head. “The government of Voestra Prime has already been informed of Bartichs’ passing. Is there anyone else we should notify, or return his belongings to?”

She shook her head. “He has no partners, no children that I am aware of. He made me think… The last few days, he acted as if we were close friends, but I have not seen or spoken to him for three years… I don’t know if he had anyone.”

“Were you? Close friends?”

She shook her head and though she shed no tears, Spock noted her eyes blinking rapidly. “Old friends maybe, but not close, no. He and I grew up in the same town on Voestra Prime; I dated his older brother in school.” Her silver skin flushed a ruddy purple at the admission. “I was hardly ever his chosen confidant.”

Spock nodded. “I have one more question,” he said, allowing her a moment to compose herself. 

She replied with her own nod, mirroring his. “Yes, Commander?”

“Yesterday, you were the delegate who requested a tour of our medical facilities. May I ask why?”

“Am I to be persecuted for my curiosity?” she snapped.

“Of course not.”

“You might ask your Chief Medical Officer, he will be able to tell you: One of my spouses is a surgeon. Of my three children, one is a general practitioner, another specializes in endocrinology. None of them could accompany me on this excursion as our oldest daughter, the general practitioner, is expecting our first grandchild soon, as I said. They dispatched me with orders to return with detailed notes of what medical advancements the Federation has to offer.” She smiled too easily, but Spock believed he could detect truth in the statement.

“Were you satisfied?”

“You must understand, Commander, that while my people have been at war for a century, the scientific community across the Independent planets often valued the innovation of destruction over construction, or reconstruction, rather. Access to all of the medical knowledge and technology of the Federation will ease the suffering of millions, or so my children keep telling me, which has made this treaty so popular.

“I hope I do not appear to be cold-hearted if I admit that I hope Bartichs’ passing does not jeopardize it.”

“Thank you, Ms. Izire. I am sorry that you have lost a friend.” He nodded, signaling that he was bringing his questioning to a close. 

She smiled and stood, walking him out of her guest suite. “You are nicer than your captain,” she commented.

Something cloyed at Spock when she referred to Jim as “his captain.” It was something too evasive to name, but left an aftertaste of loyalty and possession. “It was early… and he takes death very seriously,” Spock said. They paused at the door.

She looked at him with a quirked eyebrow, a startling reflection of his favorite expression. “And you?”

Spock considered his answer. Knowing that she preferred him and suspecting that she knew more than she revealed, Spock believed that it would prove beneficial to ally with her. “My father’s people believe that when we die, our souls are carried by those we loved in life. I take very seriously the loss of a friend.”

Izire smiled gratefully. “I like this Vulcan philosophy.”

“Surak’s teachings were only accepted after a long history of brutal and destructive violence.”

“Then there is hope for the Voestrei as well.”

~~~

In sickbay, Spock found Dr. McCoy taking an early lunch in his office. He picked over an aggressively health-conscious salad Spock knew for a fact he did not like while using the other hand to type on his console. “You’re gonna be disappointed,” he said, not looking up, as Spock entered.

“In what regard?’ Spock posed politely, stopping on the other side of the desk.

“Cause of death. Totally natural so far as I can tell.” 

“That was what Jim said.”

McCoy finally looked up, unimpressed. “Come on. We all figured that was bullshit once he asked you to stay. Anyone who knows you two wouldn’t buy that story he gave about needing to apologize! And besides, he wouldn’t leave the ship without telling you. Something’s off, but he didn’t want to say so in front of the governor.”

Spock pursed his lips and looked down at the desk between them. “You are at least partly correct. He does believe Mr. Bartichs was murdered and he did use the time in which he said he would apologize to confide in me this theory. However, before the briefing, I did not know that he had left.” 

“Really? I didn’t… Anyway.” He scowled down at his salad and pushed it aside to allow Spock to lean over and look at the monitor where his autopsy notes were displayed. “Voestrite biology falls in line with most humanoid constants, and all signs point to a blood clot here:” he pulled up a scan of Bartichs’ skull and pointed at a white mass near the spinal cord. “And turns out the governor wasn’t just blowing smoke, their skin is as fragile as paper under extreme duress and post mortem.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve seen weirder evolutionary quirks, but that’s up there.” 

“Have you run a toxicology scan?”

“Poison? No. He doesn’t show any signs of ingesting a poison. Why?”

Spock summarized the conclusions of his brief investigative endeavor that morning as well as Jim’s observations. When he finished, McCoy was frowning, scratching his chin in thought.

“I’ll do it, if you think it will give us anything… I haven’t finished the autopsy yet anyway, whatever a ‘full Starfleet-regulated autopsy’ means, but honestly Spock, I really believe what we’re looking at is a man, not all that young, suffering from an unfortunate brain embolism.” He navigated through his notes to put in an order for the scan.

Spock stared longer at the screen until the cramped lines of medical jargon blurred, he could not make sense of it anyway. He was back to being useless and waiting. 

Had he been able to meditate that morning, whatever muscle in his face that pulled taut in his frustration would not have betrayed him to the doctor. But it did. “Yeah, I know,” the doctor drawled. “Doesn’t seem right to be disappointed that this man  _ wasn’t _ murdered but…” He shrugged without offering any condolences. 

Spock pressed his lips into a straight line and stood back up.

“I can’t imagine what it’d do to your logic, everything pointing to murder…” McCoy began tentatively before Spock interrupted him.

“That is precisely the problem, without Jim’s encounter, it would be logical to attribute Bartichs’ death to an ‘unfortunate brain embolism,’ as you say.” Spock felt his lip curl in frustration and noted the doctors’ ill-concealed surprise.

“There’s that magic word,”’ McCoy sighed and leaned far back in his chair. “Well, I’m stumped, that’s for sure… ” He sprung up to his feet. “Hey, I heard from Astronomy that the  _ Enterprise _ is gonna be in a perfect position to catch the aurora at the North Pole from the observation deck. A break might clear our heads a little,” he suggested. 

Spock was about to insist that he did not need a break, but without the clarity of meditation, the fog in his mind was fatiguing. With no other pressing matters, he agreed. 

Spock remained silent while they left sickbay, until, in an unpopulated section of the corridor, McCoy stopped walking and asked bluntly, “What is wrong with you?”

Spock blinked. 

“I am fine.”

McCoy rolled his eyes; he had heard Spock’s past treatises on the imprecision of human colloquials. “Fine” could mean anything, and therefore most answers including it were honest and accurate.

“ _ Sure _ .”

Spock avoided McCoy’s blue-eyed scowl.

“‘Cause between you and Jim, I don’t know who’s been acting weirder lately.” McCoy looked around, making sure no crew member had heard him.

Spock could feel McCoy’s probing statements like barbs, exposing the larger holes in his mental barriers. “We have encountered some… difficulties recently. Disagreements,” he admitted quietly with a stab of shame. He and Jim were supposed to be  _ t’hyla _ , a bond that surpassed even the deepest marriage bond between Vulcans. “He shies away from our bond. He is stressed, but he refuses any of my offers to help, such as this morning: I offered to go when security called, but he refused though I pointed out to him that I was more adequately rested.”

“You mean  _ our Jim _ ?” The fact that Spock clearly did not appreciate McCoy’s patronizing tone did not persuade the doctor to stop. “ _ Our _ James T. Kirk  _ didn’t _ let someone sacrifice  _ their _ comfort to ease  _ his _ sense of duty?”

“That was only one recent example of many I could cite,” Spock replied.

McCoy dropped the sarcasm and shrugged. “I’ll believe it.” He started to walk again, but stopped and turned when Spock did not follow.

“Now he has departed on a spontaneous away mission, which I am forbidden from joining, while he suffers from an unacceptable amount of fatigue.” 

McCoy’s eyebrows turned up and he opened his mouth to speak, but feeling he would reprimand Jim’s behavior, which Spock would then feel duty-bound to defend despite his own quarrels, or worse, the doctor would offer words of pity, Spock continued. “He had finally accepted one of my suggestions yesterday morning, but judging by the reluctance he showed in accepting, I believe he will use this current situation to ‘conveniently forget.’”

McCoy’s expression was now completely serious, he came back to Spock. “You’re really worried about him?” 

Spock did not dignify this with a response. 

McCoy’s frown wavered. “How’s the kid dealing?”

“She was quiet this morning, subdued.” Spock stared at his feet. Speaking of obvious observations, he realized now that he should have interrogated the out-of-character passivity she gave him. At the time, he had just been grateful that she did not present him any challenges while he focused his concern on Jim. He recognized now, that while silence and compliance were admirable traits in a Vulcan child, for Leo, it was unnatural. 

He thought about his actions with more shame, more disappointment. 

“Hey,” the doctor’s voice was softer now. He leaned over and tried to catch his eye, but Spock refused. “He’s gonna be okay. So’s Leo. She’s probably just not used to him being so far out of her range. It’s probably just weird and she didn’t know how—”

Spock shook his head. “No, doctor.” He gave a brief summation of Leo’s nightmares from the past few nights.

Spock and McCoy stood in silence for a long moment before the doctor sighed. “Poor kid. I doubt whatever’s going on with Jim is helping.”

“I suspect that by now, enough stress has passed between them that the origin would be impossible to locate. I do not believe I have been able to help. I do not believe I am suited for this.”

Perplexingly, a fond smile played over McCoy’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to enjoy Spock’s growing confusion. “I don’t know why I’m always so surprised when I find out the tin man had a heart all along,” he drawled.

“Explain,” Spock requested.

“All that worry, it’s completely normal.”

“Normal?”

“New parent jitters.” McCoy wiggled his fingers by way of illustration. 

Spock’s frown deepened and McCoy shrugged. “That’s my diagnosis anyway. It’s a common enough affliction. Probably every person who ever had a kid worries they’re not gonna be enough—even Vulcans probably worry they’re gonna fuck up or are currently fucking up. And for most people their kids don’t come to them so…established. You know, with a personality and a history and trauma already. You don’t know this kid,” he offered as his voice softened. “You’ve never been trained for this.”

They resumed walking at a much slower pace as McCoy studied Spock’s reaction to his suggestion. “New parent  _ jitters _ ?” Spock repeated slowly. 

“Bingo.”

This was not some revelation to Spock. Not entirely, as he did not repress his emotions enough to completely ignore quotidian anxieties… it was just that… 

“This does not help me.”

“No.”

“I had thought that determining the root of the issue would then lead to an obvious remedy.”

“Nah.”

“Oh.”

“Yup. But since I’m the one who diagnosed it, let me cut you some slack. You’ve got to relax.”

Spock fought the urge to roll his eyes as they entered the turbolift.

The observation deck was busier than usual. The astronomy team, with their equipment set up right in front of the curved, convex window, were joined by a dozen crew members on their lunch hour, eating off trays in their laps, and a sizeable portion of the Voestrei delegation and their security details. Spock had never seen the lounge so busy, he almost forgot whether Astronomy had ever actually submitted the experiment for his approval. As he surveyed the room, he saw, in the corner, standing with the other Voestrei, but not engaging in their lively conversation, was Izire of Alle with her security detail, Asrat. As if she could sense his gaze, she raised her eyes and met his. She nodded solemnly by way of greeting. He bowed his head back.

“Spock!” A small voice shouting his name, drew his attention to the door where Leo bounded in, Nida rolling behind. Leo stopped just in front of him, looking up with a dazzling smile, wholly unlike her demeanor this morning. “Are you gonna watch the lights too? Nida said they’re gonna be mostly red but I want to see all the colors. Did you know Voestra Prime is one of the smallest planets with a mag-maga-magnetic field..um, enough for it to happen?” She stumbled through the end, catching her breath and trying very hard to remember her lesson all at once.

Spock tilted his head. “I did not. Thank you for telling me.”

She  _ beamed _ .

Nida caught up with a sort of frazzled sigh. “I’m so sorry, Commander. Leo, lets try not to interrupt your dad when he’s on duty—“

Leo grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“It is fine,” the words jumped from Spock before he thought them, though he did step back and Leo released her grip. He was keenly aware of both Miss Abbassi and Dr. McCoy watching this interaction with interest, and faint smiles. Neither could he escape the scrutiny of the others gathered around them, startled out of conversation by the scene. “It is fine,” he repeated, for reassurance. “Dr. McCoy suggested we attend the display as a distraction.”

“Hey, kid,” the doctor greeted her warmly. 

“Uncle Bones, Nida said that a long time ago, Voestrei people used to think that the aurora could make them better when they were sick!”

“Did they now?”

“Uh huh. But it didn’t work and they  _ died _ .”

“Well, at least they tried something; always better than nothing. Spock you better snag a spot up front now, if you don’t want the kid to have to sit on your shoulders to see.”

Leo looked upward hopefully.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Spock replied, deciding he was not prepared to suffer that indignity in front of his crew just yet. 

Leo surprised him by grabbing his hand and all but pulling him to the window. Nida followed after. Spock looked back at McCoy who wore a smug grin; he believed the human expression was “schadenfreude.”

Leo chose to stand directly next to the astronomy team. They eyed Spock, and the hand she continued to hold, but Spock only nodded at them and coolly turned his head. He understood his reputation on the ship, especially as the only representative of his species.

Beneath the convex window, the planet, Voestra Prime, was a mass of green and gray. Heavy clouds obscured most of their view of the planet itself; Voestra Prime was naturally rainy, which made viewing its northern aurora especially rare. 

Leo engaged in her favorite practice of trying to crawl into the window, pressing her knees, palms, and face against the glass, but the curve was too shallow. Nida watched her with a barely suppressed laugh, She had seen Leo do this many times before.

Leo pushed herself off the glass and turned to Nida. “That’s a storm?” she asked, pointing a finger at a swirl of clouds passing below them.

Nida craned her neck and nodded. “Very good! Looks like a big one.”

Leo twisted to Spock on her other side. “We did mete-meteorology last week.”

Spock nodded, he remembered a surprisingly detailed after-dinner recitation of the water cycle. 

“What’s that?” She pointed to a part of the planet’s surface clear of clouds, but blemished with thick, black smoke.

“I don’t know,” Nida answered. They both looked to Spock. He glanced back at the doctor, he was no longer playing audience to Spock’s parenting, instead he had fallen into conversation with Izire of Alle.

Spock returned to his study of the planet. “An industrial area, I believe.” The  _ Enterprise  _ was too far from the surface to distinguish built structures, but he thought he could catch the glimmer of metallic flue stacks.

“There’s another one,” Leo said, pointing to a spot on the planet just coming into view as it rotated.

“There are a wealth of rhenium deposits in the northern hemisphere,” Spock offered. “Perhaps those are mines and factories.”

Leo mouthed along with the word “rhenium,” and repeated it to herself several times after. The black smoke plumed upward until it dispersed into the atmosphere. Spock felt a strong revulsion at the sight. He knew, generally, that sovereign bodies spanning as hundreds of planets and other settlements as the Voes Empire did, lost in their people the cultural drive for environmental preservation. At some point, the recently independent planets would have to realize that their planets were no longer expendable and the natural ecosystem must be protected. It was an arrogance native to his Vulcan half that inspired the judgement, and the pride in his desert planet whose natural resources stayed intact while sustaining an ancient culture that predated the existence of Voestra Prime.

“Hey look, I think they’re starting!” Nida spotted a flicker of green above the clouds of the pole. A murmur ran through the observation deck and to his right, Spock heard the hum and whir of Astronomy’s equipment. Spock inched closer to Leo and further into the window as those gathered strained for a view behind them.

“Whoa,” Leo said, too quietly for anyone to hear but Spock. Some childish remnants of himself understood the awe and shared in it. The observation deck was almost silent save for appreciative sighs and gasps as the lights twisted through the ether.

Spock’s attention was divided between Leo and the display. He watched them both with equal fascination and for the first time, it seemed, since they adopted Leo, Spock felt the serene, parental contentment everyone spoke of.

After the aurora faded, like smoke, into the atmosphere, the deck rumbled back to life, the people talking and moving again.

“When we go back to the classroom, I have video of an aurora from Earth that we can compare to what we saw.”

Leo’s eyes went wide and her hair flew as she rounded on Spock. “You mean this stuff happens on Earth and we had to go to  _ Iowa _ ?” 

“Don’t let your daddy hear you say that,” McCoy said, rejoining them with Nyota by his side. Leo crinkled her nose at the teasing. 

“Good show, huh?” Nyota said to Leo, who was still shy to everyone outside her core care team. Leo drifted toward Spock. 

“Stay here, while I ask Astronomy for some of the data. Maybe I can get some pictures as well and we can use them for art class?” Nida said quietly to Leo before going over to where the science officers were packing up their equipment. Leo turned enthusiastically to Spock, and Spock nodded to acknowledge her excitement. He hoped he was doing this right. Nyota and McCoy’s smiles were some encouragement at least. 

Nyota held her own mostly empty lunch tray and carried her notebook clamped awkwardly under her arm. She and the doctor shared a coded look and then she set aside her tray and opened the notebook to show Spock. 

“As I was just telling Leonard, I translated Bartichs’ computer searches. I don’t know why, but I wanted to write them down instead of… you know, in case… I don’t even know what. But Jim was right, I think there is something off here.”

Before accepting the notebook, Spock looked down at Leona and gestured for her to wait by the window for a moment while he went further into the room with his fellow officers to speak in relative privacy in the emptying lounge. In her neat, sloping hand, Nyota had transcribed the original Veostrite characters that Bartichs entered into the program, and then her own translations. “You can tell he spoke a little standard, he must have known how to string the words together and what he wanted to say, but I can’t make any sense of it.”

He scanned the list of her interpretations. 

> _ Tunnel _
> 
> _ Channel _
> 
> _ Vein _
> 
> _ Copper _
> 
> _ Gray crystal (Pyrite? Graphite? Sulfide? Molybdenite?) _
> 
> _ Process _
> 
> _ Produce _
> 
> _ Product _
> 
> _ Reduce _
> 
> _ Reduction _
> 
> _ The solution (To a problem?) _
> 
> _ Precipitation _
> 
> _ Rain _
> 
> _ Chimney _
> 
> _ Flue _
> 
> _ Gas _
> 
> _ Death _
> 
> _ Dead _
> 
> _ Kill _
> 
> _ Make _
> 
> _ Made _
> 
> _ Mistake _

When he looked up, Nyota and McCoy looked at him with grave expressions. “Mean anything to you?” the doctor asked.

Spock read the list again and was about to answer the negative when he remembered Jim’s account of the short conversation he and the representative had through the door. “Only the last three.” He summarized Jim’s story. “He heard Bartichs respond that he no longer wished to speak to him, that whatever he’d had to say, he was ‘mistaken’ about.’

“Could he have said that he ‘made a mistake?’” Nyota suggested.

“Jim did not quote the representative directly.” 

“I dunno. Shouted through a wall, Jim could’ve heard anything. And what’s that at the top, there, ‘gray crystal?’”

Nyota shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be colloquial in Voestrite, so whatever it is, they call it something that translates to ‘gray crystal.’ I considered what fit the description and cross-referenced the most common minerals on planets in this system. These were my guesses.”

“Have you formulated any theories?” Spock asked Nyota.

“Jim said he didn’t want to talk anymore? He translated some very specific topics just to turn around and refuse to talk. Something must have happened.”

“Do you have the time stamps?” McCoy asked.

“I can bring up the recorded logs here,” Spock volunteered, crossing the now mostly empty room to a computer terminal and using his rank to access the same file he sent to Nyota that morning. 

“There’s a gap here, just a minute or so, between ‘kill’ and ‘make.’” Nyota’s voice went faint when she read the grim entries. 02:34:12, 2:36:28. “Something must have happened,” she repeated quietly.

“But what? He wanted to talk, then he didn’t. What do you think happened? He was threatened? Intimidated?” McCoy posed.

Spock shook his head. “Impossible.” He pulled up the security footage and showed them, “No one entered his cabin after Brizud left, his aide.”

“Personal communicator? Ship comm?”

“No. Only the computer terminal was active in his cabin. And this, the only program it ran.”

“What if the threat didn’t come right before? What if whatever happened, happened before and Bartichs decides he wants to talk to Jim anyway and  _ then _ has second thoughts,” the doctor proposed. They looked at him with surprise. 

“But what was he going to say?” Nyota said.

“And who wished for him to stay silent?” Spock added.

“Well let’s see,” McCoy began to pace, arms crossed. “Jim told you Bartichs said he wanted to talk about Voestra Prime’s ‘place in the Federation?’”

Spock nodded. McCoy tapped his chin in thought. “Coulda been that he was trying to get a leg up on the rest of the delegation, sweet talk a better deal for Voestra Prime, trade all that rhenium for a few extra perks.”

Nyota nodded. “The other planets probably wouldn’t like that.”

McCoy tapped his nose in agreement. “ _ Or _ he knew something the Federation didn’t. A reason Voestra Prime couldn’t be admitted.”

“In that case, Voestra Prime wouldn’t want him to represent them in the treaty signing, if he wasn’t going to come back with a Federation membership.”

“On what have you based this hypothesis?” Spock asked McCoy, more inclined to believe the former, than the improbability of the later, which the doctor clearly favored. 

McCoy pointed at the notebook in Spock’s hand, towards the end of the list. “‘Death, dead, kill?’ Those aren’t the words of a man trying to make a deal.”

McCoy appeared to relish Spock’s undisguised alarm. “I ain’t just your humble country doctor, Mr. Spock,” he said with delight.

“Then his aide? Brizud would have been appointed by the governor,” Nyota replied.

“Could be,” McCoy shrugged and bounced on the balls of his feet. “In fact, it’s likely. I'll tell you what, it makes me much more interested in getting a look at that tox screen.”

“We must inform the captain,” Spock said suddenly, returning the notebook to Nyota. It was too obvious for him to miss, the aide! And Jim was down there playing guest to the assassin’s employer. There was no excuse for such foolishness, letting his captain and husband walk into such danger.

Nyota was nodding, pen poised over paper. “I’ll go back to the bridge and see if I can get through to any of them in private. What should I tell them if I can’t?”

“Hey, what’s this?” They were interrupted by McCoy, who stood still staring at the computer screen and watching the security tape.

Spock followed his gaze, searching desperately for what he missed in his viewing this morning, but McCoy was only looking at the back of Jim’s head. Spock told him so.

McCoy frowned. “Huh. What’s he waiting for?”

Spock sighed in frustration. Jim needed to be warned and McCoy’s questions were only an obstacle. “He is checking to see if the hallway is clear,” Spock answered brusquely. 

McCoy’s scowl twisted. “I don’t know, Spock, it just doesn’t look like he’s waiting… it looks kinda… kinda like—“

Behind him Spock heard a sharp inspiration of breath and then a sudden dissolution into tears. Where Leo had stood quietly before the observation window. She now crouched on her hands and knees as if she had fallen. Her head hung low and her chest heaved with sobs. Then she scrambled back against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest and clutching her head. She choked over two more sobs before screaming in terror.

McCoy was the first person to act. Before Spock could begin to assess the situation, the doctor had already crossed the room and knelt beside her. He looked back at Spock for direction and Spock wondered if he too wished that Jim were here instead of—

McCoy reached out his hand to touch her shoulder, but the child’s leg flailed out in defense of some unseen mental boundary, so he froze, sending another glance back at Spock.

Spock felt rooted to his spot like a stubborn desert shrub. The shock of the situation impaired his own mental barriers, stunning him. He felt the eyes of his crewmates acutely. “Leo?” he called quietly. Her black eyes snapped to him. She stopped sobbing. 

She stopped sobbing and she launched herself off the wall and into him. She flung her arms around his hips with all of her strength and buried her face in his side. Spock, still shocked, stumbled back a step and broke the embrace. He caught her wrists and held her an arms length away to study her, she tried to speak, but stumbled over her words. She hyperventilated and tears still leaked from her eyes. He thought that even as her guardian, Spock saw too much of her tears. 

Just as McCoy looked to him before, Spock looked to McCoy; all he saw was the doctor’s growing concern. Nyota stepped forward, thought better of it, and stepped back again. 

“Leo?” He lowered himself to his knee as she worked to make herself understandable.

“You didn’t see me!” she shouted when she could not suppress a sob. “I was right here! I was right here the whole time and you didn’t see me!” Her black eyes were wild and round. He still held loosely onto her wrists, but she maneuvered her hands to clutch his own, digging her fingernails into his skin. “I’m here!” she continued to insist, but Spock had not expected her to be anywhere else. 

“What happened?” he asked over her shouting. 

She bounced on her feet through her frustration and fear. “I  _ told  _ you! You were looking for me and I was  _ right there _ !” Her hand wriggled out of his grip to point at the window and punctuated her point with a stomp. “The whole time! And you didn’t even see me!”

“I knew where you were…”

“You didn’t even look at me!”

She had not been asleep at the window, his hearing would have detected the slight change in her breathing, so this was not one of her customary nightmares. He felt a stab of fear in his chest. Was this a sudden escalation of her condition, whatever it was that caused her mind to remind her of her trauma nightly? A waking nightmare?

“Were you in the dark place?” he asked.

“No! No!” She shook her head violently, and the grip of her one hand that still held onto him tightened until it was almost painful, even for a Vulcan.

“Where were you?”

She sobbed again and stomped her foot again. “HERE!” 

Spock turned once more to McCoy, who was looking at him oddly. “Spock—”

“We must bring her to Dr. Kibir. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the longest time (literally the longest, this chapter had me stumped for months) I didn't know what to title this chapter, but then, since it was in the dialogue anyway, I decided to pay homage to the episode of TNG (3x20) that introduced the idea of uncontrollable telepathy/empathy as a mental illness.
> 
> Thanks to Memories Alpha and Beta, fantasy name generator, a bunch of macabre googling about brain embolisms, and my faithful reader, andydear.
> 
> Special thanks this week to @yellow-hornets on tumblr for drawing [AN ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE LEO!!](https://yellow-hornets.tumblr.com/post/630765526420979712/a-drawing-of-fairwellersmustache-oc-leona-k?is_highlighted_post=1) Please go check out their art and their Star Trek: Andromeda project!  
> You can find ME on tumblr @fairwellersmustache
> 
> Chapter Six: "Sa'mekh" will be posted on Thursday, October 8th. Subscribe to stay tuned!


	6. "Sa'mekh"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in sickbay, Spock and McCoy attempt to unravel another mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for brief depictions of blood.  
> If there are any typos, I fully blame my cat who was walking over my keyboard while I was editing in search of head scritches. (Don't worry, he got plenty.)

Spock stood in the corner of Dr. Kibir’s office, absolutely still as Kibir examined Leona. Dr. McCoy stood next to Spock, face etched into a pronounced frown, his eyes following Kibir and Leo’s movements, forming hypotheses of his own, undoubtedly. The only other person who followed them from the observation deck was Nida Abbassi, who still had not lost the flush of guilt that overcame her. Nyota had been loathe to leave, but he sent her back to the bridge, to at least warn the away team of what they theorized.

It had been four minutes before Leo was calm enough to follow the group down to sickbay, and she only moved on the condition that Spock would hold her hand and not let go. Spock would remember the look she gave him, wide, wild black eyes, but her eyebrows drawn together in skepticism (“You won’t let go?” “I will not.” “Not even for a  _ second _ ?” “No.”)

Leo’s tears now verged on the embarrassed kind when the xenopsychologist ran through a series of calm, monotone questions. McCoy and Nida shared worried glances as they watched on while Spock debated the merits of contacting Jim about this. He decided to wait for Dr. Kibir’s opinion. 

The interview was brief and Leo’s answers mostly nonverbal. Kibir offered her another tissue and smiled placidly. “She’s alright” she reported, when she stood up. Leo, who sat cross-legged on one of the plush chairs in Kibir’s office, looked down and hid her face with her hair. Kibir’s voice was even and measured, as always, as she looked up at Spock and told him, “She just needs some quiet time. But I would like her to stay in sickbay, in case it happens again.”

He nodded and shuddered internally at the idea of it, whatever  _ it _ was, happening twice.

“But what happened?” Nida wheeled over beside them, obvious concern etched onto her face. Leo shied away. As she moved, Spock caught a glimpse of Leo’s face as she winced.

Kibir had not noticed, but replied hesitantly, eyes on McCoy. “She just got a fright… is all.”

“Outta nowhere?” McCoy asked sharply. 

“It appears so. Though I would like to discuss it with you after you get her settled here,” she added with a grim set of her mouth.

McCoy nodded.

Nida crossed her arm and looked up at Kibir. “But  _ what happened _ ?” Spock saw Leo put a hand to her temple as Nida’s panic loomed.

Spock stepped forward. “Miss Abbassi, please regulate your emotions or remove yourself,” he said curtly. 

“Oh!” Nida covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and retreated to the opposite wall. Leo relaxed.

“She’s very sensitive right now,” Kibir said to Nida, kindly.

“What does she require?” Spock asked, stepping closer again.

“Like I said before, quiet, a little rest, maybe some sleep if she wants it. How does that sound?” she asked Leo, who barely nodded. 

“You will remain here, until Dr. Kibir releases you,” Spock told the child.

Leo did raise her head, and then looked at Nida questioningly. 

Nida, who tried hard to appear calm, faked a laugh. “No more lessons today, you’re off the hook.”

And then Leo looked at Spock. “Will you stay?”

He should be returning to the task at hand, Bartichs’ death, but still waiting on the toxicology report and McCoy to finish the autopsy he had no logical reason to refuse, and one very important reason to agree. 

He nodded. “Then I will know where you are.”

She responded with her own grave nod.

McCoy shepherded Spock and Leo to the private room in sickbay. “Here you go, your old room,” the doctor said with a forced geniality. The sentiment did not relax her. 

Spock helped her onto the biobed and stood by her side as she sat, as if waiting for instructions.

“Sleep will help,” he repeated Kibir’s words. 

She scowled at the bed beneath her and kicked her feet. “I’m not tired.” At least her spirit had improved; Spock had to be grateful for that. 

“You may become tired once you lie down.”

“But I can’t go to sleep if you don’t read.” She protested, still sitting up.

“That is not true.” Spock remained standing by the side of the bed. “And Diazrid recommended quiet.”

“You could read  _ quietly _ ,” she ended in a gleeful whisper. 

What had happened? Spock could not look at Leo and not ask the question. Though she seemed lucid now, there had been such a strong conviction behind her insistence that she was lost and invisible in the vision she experienced. 

Had she picked up on some violent emotion of a nearby crewmember? Or was it a self-originated explosion of her own fears?

He retrieved a medical PADD and overrode the current program to access the ships’ stores of entertainment literature. Once she selected an Earth folk tale that was most likely taught to her by her mother, she crawled under the covers. He was only halfway through a story titled efficiently (if fallaciously) “Why the Bananas Belong to the Monkeys,” when her head sank heavily onto the pillow.

Spock brought the PADD back out to sickbay and began formulating a list of priorities. First he should contact sickbay. If Dr. McCoy did not yet have the toxicology results, he could ask Dr. Kibir for her theories about Leo’s episode, Spock believed it was an evolution of her nightmares, but he was too ignorant of the subject. Then, Nyota for an update on her progress contacting the away team.

He returned and where just a moment ago, Leo had been almost asleep, sprawled out over the narrow bed, she sat up and watched him with unblinking eyes. “It wasn’t like one of my nightmares. I told Diazrid,” she said. “And she knows.” She picked at the blanket.

He looked at her curiously. How… “Have you ever experienced anything comparable?”

She nodded, and he was intrigued. “It was kinda like when someone gets really hurt, like…” she looked down and Spock knew she was thinking of the first time he had seen her, thrashing on the biobed in a fit brought on by the injury of a crewmember. Though Lt. Qilaq had been anesthetized and was no longer conscious, Leo had already absorbed all of her pain. It was Spock who, only having a rudimentary knowledge of the practice of neuro-pressure points, was able to subdue her. He saw himself, through a blurry, wet gaze, his expression drawn tight in concentration. There was a sort of wonder imbued in the lens, a strange and foreign fascination.

Spock blinked and was back in the present, Leo’s stare unwavering as Spock realized he was not in his mind alone. Leo had slipped through the fissures in his metal shields that had been forming all day. He felt strongly guilty for letting his guard down when that was the reason he stayed with her. 

“I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry,” she cried and Spock remembered she felt his guilt as her own.

He banished it. “You have done nothing wrong. But perhaps it would be best if I retrieve Dr. Kibir.”

She scrambled to her knees. “No! I want you! I like it with you. It’s quieter with you.”

Spock blinked again. He did not expect her to seek refuge in his mind intentionally. “Is that what you require?”

She nodded eagerly.

Cautiously, he began to lower his barriers. Leo’s presence in his mind was bright and frantic. He revealed things slowly, like he would to introduce a meld, but she filled each void as it appeared, consuming his thoughts with the same thirst for knowledge she showed in life. He sat on the end of her biobed and in an instant, she was beside him, eyes bright as she examined and understood. It made him feel like Jim. 

After he shared all that he wished to, he began to corral her exploration, but she was reluctant to let go. He felt her charging his barriers and clinging to the gaps in his concentration. The child was desperate for connection, so Spock let her stay. He was content to let her reside just on the periphery of his psyche as he guided her back to the physical.

Leo rubbed her eyes with her fist, she was still exhausted. “I wish Daddy was back.”

“He will be back soon.” She was still enough in his mind to sense his uncertainty in the statement, bordering dishonesty. He apologized. 

“You could read some more,” she suggested with a faint smile. 

“No,” he shook his head. 

“M’not sleepy,” she shrugged sleepily.

Her black eyes were round and pleading, but she had propped up the corner of her mouth in a lopsided smile. Spock was reminded of Jim’s inclination for humor in times of distress. Having never known her before her bond with Jim, he wondered if mischief was innate in Leona Yarro, or a product of association. He wondered if they could ever be separated. He wondered if it mattered anymore. 

Then he thought of the way he froze on the Observation Deck. He would never have frozen if Jim were in trouble. Leo deserved more than his anxiety and more than his fear. 

“May I teach you something?” 

Her face lit up. In a moment, she was sitting beside him on her knees. 

Spock turned to face her, crossing his legs in front of him. “You have observed the gesture that your father and I perform frequently where we join our first two fingers.” He illustrated with his own hands. “In Vulcan it is called the ‘ _ ozh-esta _ ’ and it may be interpreted as similar to a kiss on the lips in Terran culture, or as a romantic pair holding hands.” 

She nodded thoughtfully. He could feel her devouring the positive associations he had of the  _ ozh’esta _ . 

“It derives from a much older gesture from a pre-Surakian culture.” While she did not strictly understand the definition of the words he said, she understood the context enough for him to continue. “As far as Vulcan scholars know, that culture also gave us the  _ tun-esta _ , which is one way parents express affection toward their children.”

She smiled. She understood this too. 

“Observe.” Spock held out his right hand, extending his fingers to their full length and waited until Leo mirrored him. Silently, he brought his hand to hers, bending his much longer fingers to match hers, fingertip to fingertip. 

As they touched, he felt the familiar spark of his own telepathy and Leo, searching for any break in his walls beyond what he currently allowed. Gently, again, he gathered her back.

“After the  _ ta’al _ , this is how my mother greets me.” He allowed her to view his most recent memory of this. 

“Oh,” Leo said. 

Spock observed the effect of the memory: a release of tension in her shoulders, her eyelids sliding shut; she craned her neck like she was basking in sunlight.

He was about to lower his hand when she spoke again, eyes still closed. “ _ Sa’mekh _ ?”

“How did you…” but she had slipped past his defenses again. 

She pulled her hand away and the stronger connection was lost, but her eyes were round with wonder and excitement. 

She pointed to him and then back to herself, “ _ Sa’mekh _ ,  _ ka-fu _ .”

“ _ Ko-fu _ ,” he corrected in a whisper. 

“ _ Ko-fu _ ,” she repeated. Daughter. “ _ Sa’mekh _ .” Father.

~~~

At her request (all the time refusing to admit that she was tired), Spock stayed until she slept. He allowed her mind to stay in the small corner of his own that drew on memories of meditative tranquility, as he did not have much of his own to offer. When he stepped out into the bright lights of sickbay, he severed the mental connection completely and Spock was reacquainted with the solitude of an uninhabited consciousness. He heard a rustle and opened his eyes. 

Jim was back. 

Jim was back but his hair was disheveled and his shirt was torn. Just barely hidden, a vicious wound sliced his side. The living area of their cabin flashed red and the klaxxon sounded, the ship shook under enemy fire. 

“When did you come back?”

Jim lurched through the door from the hall and into Spock’s arms. He heaved painful breaths. Under Spock’s hand on his side (where a Vulcan heart would be), Spock felt the warm wetness of blood. 

“Jim? Jim!” 

Jim’s head hung heavily, his forehead bumped into Spock’s shoulder. Spock held Jim’s face up, connecting to his psy points, but he felt nothing. Moving his hand to Jim’s neck, Spock’s fingers felt desperately for a flickering pulse.

“We can’t—we can’t beat ‘em,” Jim choked out, his eyes rolled wildly. “I can’t—I couldn’t—“

“Jim!” 

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t…” 

No matter how hard he pressed on Jim’s temple, Spock could not feel anything. He was alone. And Jim was alone. And Leo. 

“Leo! Leo!” Jim rasped. His hand found his wound and Spock’s hand. 

“She’s asleep,” Spock said, though that didn’t make sense with the alarm blaring and the ship shaking. 

Jim’s legs failed. He fell against Spock and heaved a shallow breath, then Jim was at his feet, lying prone, and Spock was frozen to the spot. 

He needed to get help. He needed to get to the bridge. He needed—the ship reeled and Spock pitched forward over, over Jim’s body, but before he hit the floor, the ship jerked back, shaken by another phaser blast. Spock waited to be thrown back against the wall, throwing his arms out behind him, but the wall never came. Instead he hit red, sandy, dirt. At first he could only make out two dark blurry shadows and the hazy divide between red earth and fiery orange sky. He couldn’t hear anything, his ears rang from hitting his head. 

Blinking, his sight focused and his fist came into view, speckled with green blood. Not his own, he knew. 

Because he was seven years old, and this was his first fight. 

His assailant was older and stronger. It began with taunts. Spock threw the first punch, created the first wound. 

He was not on the ground long, before the leader, the one who pushed him, kicked a cloud of red dirt into his face. (“To look like what you are, _ human. _ ”) His eyes and throat burned with it, and twice over when he tried to breathe. 

Spock scrambled to his feet, but the activity made him cough harder. He pulled his arms to his chest and bent over. He wondered if he would die choking on the sands of Vulcan. 

He stumbled backward into his other assailant, an associate of the first, who took hold of his shoulders. Spock could not escape the stronger Vulcan grip and tried to fold in on himself, but the child behind him jerked him upright in time to receive a punch in the face, catching his nose and mouth. His lip burst open and he could feel the hot blood fall. 

The bully behind him let go and pushed him forward. Spock landed on his hands and knees, scraped and stinging. He saw, beneath him on the red dirt, one, bright drop of green and then another. 

Then a foot and he was lying on his side, knees curled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his head. His ears screaming as they each gave another parting kick and left him in the burning hot suns until his teacher found him. 

But he felt worse when his father saw him. Sarek’s stern, unmitigating gaze took in Spock’s dusty appearance, the cracked rivulets of dried blood stood in stark relief against the red dirt staining his skin. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Clean yourself,” he said, then added, stiffly, “I must meditate.”

“ _ I must meditate _ .”  _ I must meditate. _

_ I must— _

He was in sickbay. The ship was intact. Jim was not here.

Spock blinked. He was sitting with his back to the wall and he was panting. A quick, scattered analysis determined that only a minute had passed since he left Leo’s room and in that time, his adrenaline had spiked in conjunction with his blood pressure and heart rate.

He raised a hand to his aching head. 

“ _ Sa’mekh _ ?”

He had to reestablish his mental barriers. Whatever _ that _ was had a foreign trigger that sought out or exploited poorly protected minds, like Leona’s, and today, his own. 

“Spock?”

Yes, what he just experienced must be what Leo experienced as well. What could one call it but a nightmare? 

He groaned. His head  _ hurt. _

“Commander? Can you hear me?”

“Spock!” 

He felt an insistent tugging on his arm. His vision was blurry when he finally opened his eyes and saw Leo standing over him. 

When he turned his head toward her, With difficulty, she flung her arms around his neck and he fell back against the wall again. One of his arms wrapped around Leo’s back to remove her, but he lacked the strength, so he left it circling her waist. 

Whatever she was saying was lost in his shirt or her hair. As Spock’s eyes focused, he saw that Nida was to his left and Dr.s McCoy and Kibir we’re rushing from Kibir’s office. 

McCoy got to him first and Nida took Leo by the shoulder and gently guided her away. Spock’s arm fell limp on his lap. “What the hell is happening?” McCoy grumbled.

“The commander couldn’t hear me, like he was in a trance or something, before he just dropped to the ground,” Nida said quickly. 

McCoy knelt in front of Spock and scanned him with a tricorder. “Spock?” he asked, seeing that Spock’s eyes followed his movement.

Spock took three deep breaths before being able to respond. “Yes, Doctor?” he panted.

“Come here, you Vulcan bastard,” the doctor swore, taking Spock by the shoulder and physically lifting him up with the wall as his only other aid. “Easy does it.”

Once on his feet, Spock felt his head clear. McCoy supported him by the arm. “Doctor, I am not infirm, I need no assistance,” he growled to McCoy. 

The doctor tightened his grip, “Yeah, like I’m going to believe the guy that keeled over thirty seconds ago.” He steered Spock back into the private room and deposited him into a chair beside the empty biobed. Leo followed Spock like a shadow, despite Nida trying to get Leo to give him some privacy. She ran up to his chair and stood looking between him and the doctor fearfully.

“You should be asleep,” Spock said, his voice slowed by the remaining fog in his mind. Dr. McCoy stood a step away and scanned him with a tricorder.

“But…” her eyebrows knit as she tried to express something she did not have the words for. Spock nodded. Hopefully the combined efforts of McCoy and Kibir would yield more answers than questions. 

“Everything checks out,” McCoy announced, reading the tricorder screen skeptically. “But your heart rate’s quicker than a rabbit’s, well more than usual, that is. But it’s falling steadily enough. Did you notice anything before?”

Spock did not know where to begin; should he include the general difficulty to focus he’d experienced since early this morning? Or the odd clarity after Leo fell asleep? He looked to Leo and then to Dr. Kibir at McCoy’s side. “I believe I experienced the same thing as Leona.”

The doctors’ eyes widened. Kibir began furiously scrolling through her notes and McCoy grabbed an oto-ophthalmoscope and started checking his eyes. “You experienced an illusory episode that you believed to be real at the time?”

“Yes.” As McCoy switched to checking his ears, Spock felt a small, cool hand over his on the arm rest. 

“Were you engaged in telepathic activity at the time?”

“I was not… it was sudden.” In his periphery, Spock saw the angry crease in McCoy’s forehead deepen and to his left, Leo’s expression was grave and attentive. 

“What did you see?”

Spock looked down at Leo’s hand. 

Kibir waited for his response, but when he stayed silent, she rephrased her question. “Was what you experienced based on fears or traumatic memories?”

Spock swallowed. “Yes.”

He saw McCoy’s features soften immediately. He put aside the oto-ophthalmoscope and stepped back. “Could it be connected to Leona’s nightmares?” he asked quietly, voicing the question Spock had been asking himself since the first episode.

Kibir frowned. “It depends on when she was first exposed. It’s likely most of her nightmares stem from her own trauma, but the worsening trend you brought to my attention yesterday, Commander,” she gestured to Spock, “could be the result of whatever this is in conjunction with her post traumatic stress. Besides, it has to be some foreign trigger if it’s affected you both,” Kibir said.

“Parasitic? Bacterial? Viral?” McCoy suggested, crossing his arms.

“It may not be a lifeform. It could be a toxin? Inhalant?” 

“Where could we have been exposed?” Spock asked. Leo’s hand tightened around his. 

“You’ll have to go through everything you’ve done the last few days. Nida, if you can help Leo, and Spock we can trust your memory on this. But I’d pay attention to the last twenty-four hours, since the  _ Enterprise _ entered Voestra Prime’s atmosphere and began to vent. There could be something in the air we’re not checking for.”

“Until then, we need to control the environment, I’ll go ask engineering to close the vents in this sector and implement life support for sickbay. You’ll be stuck here for now, but hopefully, that will be enough to prevent a second attack.“ Kibir left for her office and McCoy stood in front of Spock and Leo, hands on his hips. 

“Well, if it’s something foreign, it could still be in your systems. Up for some prodding and poking?” 

Fifteen minutes later, McCoy had attained two blood samples and two encephalographic profiles of their brain activity. Spock sat beside Leo on the biobed (obliging Leo’s conditions for allowing the doctor to take the blood sample) when McCoy called him into his office. Nida stayed with Leo and helped her recount her last twenty-four hours for Dr. Kibir.

On a screen in McCoy’s office, the doctor had displayed Spock and Leo’s encephalographs. Both images showed a cluster of activity at the base of their spinal column. An echo of the attack; Leo’s being fainter than Spock’s due to the time that had elapsed between the image and her episode. 

McCoy stood in front of the screen with his arms crossed and chewing on his thumb. 

“It appears you have captured telepathic activity,” Spock observed. 

“Looks like it doesn't it?” the doctor sighed. “Well, there you have it, it looks like the only parts of your body affected by this thing, is your paracortex. The only thing it’s triggering is the center of psychic thought in humanoids, everything else you and the kid went through, well that’s all a natural response to what we’re seeing here.”

Subconsciously, Spock’s hand went to his lip, which still experienced a phantom throb. “So Leona and I are the only two onboard that can be affected by this.”

McCoy nodded. 

“Good. Leo will stay in sickbay, as will I,” he decided gravely.

The doctor scoffed. “Yeah, like that was ever on the table,” he muttered. “Diazrid’s got the computer running a search through Starfleet’s medical archives filtering for your and Leo’s symptoms. Now we can also narrow it down to races that have a paracortex. But that’s not the reason I wanted to talk to you here instead of out there.” He went around the back of his desk and leaned over his chair to fiddle with his computer council. “I just got Bartichs’ toxicology report, and you’re not gonna believe it.”

Spock assumed that he would, but joined McCoy behind his monitor to see the results of the report. “What does this mean?” he asked, looking at the array of numbers. 

“It means we were right, Bartichs was poisoned, but he wasn’t murdered.”

Spock frowned. 

“There was a neurotoxin in his respiratory system, an ingestant, but he hadn’t been exposed long enough for it to reach his bloodstream. Instead, he died from an overproduction of adrenaline that caused an embolic stroke.”

“His own body overdosed itself on adrenaline?” Spock repeated slowly.

“Crazy, right? But the Voestrei have a lower tolerance to epinephrine. Something happened that caused his adrenal glands to go into overdrive which killed him before his murderer could.”

“This murderer—”

“Brizud, the aide,” McCoy interrupted. “He’s the only one who we know interacted directly with Bartichs within the window of when the poison would need to be administered to be present, but not lethal. But I promise you, that’s not even the strangest part.” WIth a flourish of his hand similar to a magician’s, the doctor added Bartich’s post-mortem encephalograph to the screen alongside Spock’s and Leo’s. Spock remembered it from that morning; the cross section of his brain looked nearly identical to the others: a bright mass of activity low in the skull just over the spine… 

“The Voestrei aren’t telepathic, their brain does not contain a paracortex,” Spock said blankly. 

“We don’t  _ think  _ they are,” McCoy corrected, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “All of the Federation’s medical knowledge of the Voestrei comes from a tiny and homogenous sample of the population of a planet clear on the other side of the solar system. Thirty percent of them could have a third arm, or five livers! And we’d never know it without a larger sample size, so, can it be such a stretch that a small portion of the billions of Voestrei out there are evolving into psychics?”

McCoy’s eyes were bright with discovery and Spock could not help but be compelled by the idea. Every telepathic race, even Vulcans and Betazoids, evolved from a non-psychic proto-species. A chilling silence settled in the room. 

Spock reached for the comm panel on McCoy’s desk. “Spock to bridge. Have you contacted the landing party?’

He was glad it was Uhura’s even voice that responded. “Affirmative. I apprised Chekov of our theories—”

“Re-establish communication as soon as possible and patch the feed directly to Dr. McCoy’s office. We must reach the Captain.”

“Aye sir.” 

“I’m going to get Diazrid. If whatever this is  _ killed _ Bartichs we need to keep Leo under close observation, and you, until we can figure out the cause,” McCoy talked quickly as he walked out and left Spock alone.

Spock chose to sit in the chair opposite McCoy’s desk, not nearly as comfortable as those in Dr. Kibir’s office. He closed his mind and tried to center himself, but he was drawn back to the memories he experienced in the episode. The first, the memory of a frequent nightmare that plagued him in times of stress, always different, but always colored with the insecurities of his reality, to lose everything, including his agency. The second… visceral and true. His paracortex did not need to alter history to terrify him. 

Spock sank against the stiff back of the chair, balanced his elbows on the arm rests, and steepled his fingers. He considered the lonely image of the  _ tun-esta _ it made. 

An imperceptible breeze turned his thoughts to another memory, one that had taken him several years to understand. 

It was from that same day, the day of the fight. Sarek took him home and once he ascertained Spock had no serious injuries, sent Spock away. 

“Clean yourself. I must meditate,” The fragmented spectre of a memory had said, in a strange, stilted voice. What, as a child, he interpreted as venom, he later realized was his own pain. The sympathetic pain of parenthood. 

Spock had refused medical attention and requested to be left alone. His mother, after returning home, invaded his solitude and forced him to show her his injuries, though he had not wanted to. He would not let her touch his split lip. When she demanded to know what happened and he explained, her mouth became pinched. 

When Amanda left, Sarek came in. Spock let him bandage his fingers and apply a cooling balm to his bruises. Sarek did not speak except to issue the necessary direction (“Can you bend your arm?” “Look this way.”) for which Spock was grateful. 

Before he left, Sarek initiated the  _ tun-esta _ , which Spock returned with his bandaged hand. He remembered Sarek’s fingers bending over his to match their fingertips, like he’d had to do with Leo. A wave of comfort warmed him. Sarek wished him a good night.

Then, he left, and Spock heard his father meet his mother in the hall. 

Spock slid off his bed. Disguising the sound of his bare feet on the cool tile with a muffled cough, he hid behind his door. He heard Amanda speak. “Senva’s father received your message. He has threatened to go to the diplomatic council about your behavior.”

“I predicted that possibility.”

“And T’Madh says that you are no longer welcome to her home for  _ kal-toh _ for your ‘reprehensible language.’”

“I predicted that as well.”

“Did you?”

“I was prepared to recuse myself from their social spheres. Their child-rearing methods are obviously unsatisfactory—”

“Sarek. Stop.”

Spock counted the seconds of the silence that stretched between them. “You cannot jeopardize your career defending Spock’s actions. He must learn to deal with bullies peacefully.”

“In insulting Spock’s humanity, they have also insulted you.” Behind the door, Spock furrowed his brow. Was he meant to have been fighting for his mother’s honor? She never appeared to have required it.

She confirmed this with her next words, said in wry amusement. “The condemnation of two ten year olds and their stupid pompous parents? I can take it. I know how.”

“I do not. I cannot.” Spock could tell that Sarek’s words stunned his mother as much as they did him, as she did not respond, letting the silence settle, and then for Sarek to continue, “He is my son. I am not a father without him.”

He heard his mother’s voice soften. “That makes no sense.”

“Have you not grown tired of my illogic?”

They were quiet again and Spock had almost made it back to his bed when he heard the mortifying sound of his mother’s lips on his father’s, kissing in the human way.

With a steady breath, Spock emerged from the memory and returned to McCoy’s office, only to see the doctor, standing over him, white with concern. “Jesus Christ! Spock! You made me think you were going through one of those episodes again!” he cried, clutching his chest. 

All of his defenses that had been crumbling all day rose again, solid and strong. Spock blinked and shook his head. “No, doctor, I was meditating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it seems like I am literally a hair’s breadth away from writing Spones at all times, it’s because I am literally a hair’s breadth away from writing Spones at all times.
> 
> I was inspired to create the tun-esta by this promotional image of Leonard Nimoy and Jane Wyatt from the original series:  
> 
> 
> On the topic of all that silly medical jargon:  
> 1\. The oto-ophthalmoscope is a tool I invented for this story because when I was researching the tools general practitioners use to check your eyes, ears, and throat, I thought the otoscope and the ophthalmoscope were one tool, not two, so hopefully the medical industry will have streamlined this technology by the 23rd century.  
> 2\. As far as I've read, startrek.com only mentions the paracortex in the context of the Betazoid brain, but I am operating under my own headcanon that paracortexes are unique to humanoid species that are psychic.  
> 3\. Memory Alpha said that an encephalographic profile was basically a brain scan and also there’s a delightful quote from TOS sited in the article where McCoy asks Spock if there is “a squiggle in his encephalograph” so I thought that was cute.
> 
> Thanks to my reader, andydear, as well as they myriad of sources I used for this chapter including Memory Alpha, Memory Beta, Fantasy Name Generator, and the Vulcan Language Dictionary
> 
> Chapter 7: "The Vinkol-Ettils Method" will be posted October 15th, so subscribe to stay tuned!


	7. “The Vinkol-Ettils Method”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The away team makes an important discovery while Spock and McCoy extract some answers.

Twenty-eight minutes later, Nyota patched the audio feed from the away team’s communicator to McCoy’s office in sickbay. 

“Bones, what is it?” Jim’s voice crackled over the line.

Spock and McCoy and Kibir stood around the comm panel on McCoy’s desk. “Mr. Spock, Dr. Kibir and I made some discoveries during Mr. Bartichs’ autopsy. Are you free to talk?” 

“Free as a bird. Satarov’s here too.” 

“Hi,” the Chief Security Officer replied. “We sicced Chekov on the governor’s men, got them to ask about the  _ motherland _ . So we’ve got a few minutes out of range of the translator.”

“They’ve been breathing down our necks since we talked this morning,” Jim added nearly in a growl. Spock recognized his husband’s discomfort with feeling captive.

“Well are you at least sitting down? ‘Cuz this one’s a doozy…”

“He scared himself to death?” Satarov repeated slowly after the doctor explained.

“He was a telepathic Voestrei? Bones, where the hell do you come up with this stuff?” Jim teased with a mixture of awe and disbelief. 

“Hey, blame your first officer for making me look into it in the first place.”

Kibir leaned over the speaker. “I’ve studied Mr. Bartichs’ encephalographic profile, compared to several humanoid species with a paracortex and it is in line with Mbuyisa's theory of psychic evolution,” she added. 

“Well...but Bones, you  _ can _ prove the poisoning?” Jim asked.

“Sure can. You think you can get Brizud on attempted murder charges?”

“Since Voestra Prime is not yet a member of the Federation, our interference could be seen as a breach of the Prime Directive,” Spock intervened. 

He heard Jim scoff. “He was killed on our ship! They have him in custody here, but we can’t get close. The governor won’t let us.”

Spock nodded. “We have come to the conclusion that Mr. Brizud was a hired assassin.”

“Yeah, we worked that out here too,” Jim replied flatly. “All circumstantial for now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was acting on orders from our friend.”

“We’re pretty sure the guards have orders from the governor to release him as soon as we leave,” Satarov sounded as frustrated at Jim. “Which has given them some incentive to try and see us out.”

“But we were able to get into Bartichs’ office here at the capitol building while Chekov’s got them cornered. Mind if we prolong the conversation?” Over the transmission, Spock and the doctors could hear the shifting of papers.

“Uhura sent down a list of Voestrite words we should be looking for. She said you, Spock, pulled them from Bartichs computer.” They heard Satarov’s voice say something at a distance. “What’s that?”

There was some muttering just out of range and then Jim’s directive: “Get it scanned and sent up to the ship.” He laughed breathily. “I think we found something. It’s handwritten, but it includes several of the words Uhura sent us. Satarov is sending a copy for her to translate now.”

They waited as they heard some more shuffling and muttering. “We got a whole file here!” Satarov’s voice called from the background. 

“Looks like it’s labelled with a couple of the words,” Jim said. “We’re going to try to bring it back with us, but hopefully we can get enough sent to the  _ Enterprise _ if they don’t let us leave with it...huh?” The jostling of a drawer was heard, and the clacking of several metallic items. “Either Bartichs was an amateur geologist, or he’s working on something to do with… graphite? There’s just a drawer here with a bunch of rocks in it.”

“What do they look like?” Spock asked. 

“It’s uh… kind of a shiny gray rock. Um. Leaves a greasy, metallic gray luster on your fingers, crystalline structure. Ring any bells?”

_ Gray crystal _ . Spock looked up at McCoy and saw that he had also made the connection to Uhura’s translations from the Observation deck. “Molybdenite,” Spock answered. “Planets in the Voes System have abnormally large rhenite and molybdenite deposits, which the Voestrei use to extract rhenium.”

“Is that important?”

“I think it could be, and I know who I would ask,” McCoy answered. Spock looked at him in surprise.

“Captain!” Far from the communicator, Spock and the doctors could hear Chekov’s voice calling.

“Looks like our time’s up.”

“Uhura should have everything by now.”

“We’ll see you soon. I don’t think we’ll be able to hang around here much longer. Satarov, phasers to stun—”

The line was disconnected and the office was left in silence. 

~~~

Izire of Alle met Dr. McCoy at the entrance to sickbay. “Leonard, you’ve interrupted my first lesson in rummy with Mr. Asrat,” she said drily. 

McCoy's eyes crinkled and Spock wondered when he and the representative had become so close, but he remembered that Ms. Izire had requested the tour of sickbay the day before, and they had watched the aurora together on the observation deck. He greeted her and led her to his office. Her demeanor stiffened when she saw Spock waiting in the doorway, before she settled into a gracefully amused smile. 

“If you don’t mind, ma’am, Mr. Spock and I wanted to pick your brain.” 

“My, that sounds unpleasant.”

“Though the doctor has never been known for his bedside manner, we will endeavor to at least be efficient,” Spock replied. 

He earned a smile for that. 

McCoy pulled back the chair in front of his desk for her and went to sit behind. Spock stayed standing. She looked between them before sitting. “How may I be of assistance?”

On his computer, McCoy pulled up the documents the away team recovered from Bartichs office, freshly translated. “Mining,” Spock answered.

“What should I know of that?”

“At least what you told Dr. McCoy this morning on the observation deck. You said one of your partners once worked in a mine on your home planet. Correct?”

Her silver-flecked eyes did not leave Spock, who walked around in a slow semicircle. “Correct,” she nodded.

“He resigned early in his career,” McCoy volunteered.

“Yes, I told you that. He left to raise our family while our other partner was finishing his medical schooling, and my political career accelerated.” 

“And it was fifteen days days after you attempted to introduce a law that would create a planet-wide ban on a process pioneered by the Voestrei colonies, known as the Vinkol-Ettils Method, to extract rhenium from mined molybdenite?”

“I did not tell the doctor  _ that _ .”

McCoy’s lips twisted almost into a look of shame but he turned it into his customary scowl as he swiveled her monitor to let her see the screen. “Our away team found your proposal in Mr. Bartichs’ office. It said it was authored by an Izire of Voestra Prime, but we’re willing to bet that’s you,” he said. “Especially after you were so disgusted by the sight of the industrial mines while we were on the observation deck.”

“Do you intend to accuse me of something, Commander?” she asked Spock. 

“Only of knowing more than you’ve told. What is the Vinkol-Ettils method?”

She shrugged. “I know it involves the burning of molybdenite in furnaces, I know it produces thirty-one percent more rhenium than the previous Gargeid Process, I know that it is responsible for a fifty-nine percent (and rising) increase in all the Independents’ parity power since its widespread implementation.”

“Look, Izire,” McCoy said gently. “We just want to know why you and Bartichs wanted to get rid of this Vinkol-Ettils thing. Because we think he was working on it before he died.”

She adjusted herself to sit up straight, her chin raised, and the crest of her elongated skull pointed back. “That proposal got me laughed out of my position on Voestra Prime. And worse. I was younger then, more easily scared, so my partners and I relocated to where one of us had family, on Alle.” She wet her lips and looked down. “I was alone against a desperate government who knew that the efficient extraction of rhenium was the only thing between freedom and falling back into the hands of the Empire. Your Federation may not have chosen a side until now, but one hundred grams of rhenium paid for medical supplies, food, water, and arms, on Voestra Prime, as on Alle, as on the six other Independents.”

“If the Vinkol-Ettils Method is the most efficient process for extracting rhenium, why did you attempt to outlaw it?” Spock asked. 

“I would first like to say that thirty years ago, I was a politician ambitious beyond her means. There was never any scientific study that could reproduce the correlation I  _ thought _ I found in my own amateur research,” she said stonily as she stared at her own words on the screen. She shook her head. “Bartichs was a fool for ever believing a word of it, and now he is dead.”

“Please, Izire, we can barely wrap our heads around it, can you explain it to us?”

She regarded the doctor oddly for a moment before nodding. “My partner, Steds, was a foreman in the extraction factory attached to a mine. From him, I learned that periodically there are workers in these factories that just go mad. No explanation. They experienced horrible, vivid hallucinatory episodes, and some died right on the floor. Officially, the episodes were blamed on overwork and fatigue, so the employee would leave for a few days and come back fine. The deaths? Classified as embolic strokes or pulmonary embolisms. 

“My other partner, a doctor himself, made the connection listening to Steds’ stories. Either way of death would be caused by an overdose of epinephrine, which occurs naturally in Voestrei bodies as adrenaline.”

McCoy nodded. “Ours too.”

“The closer my partners and I looked into the deaths in the factories, the more we found outside of them. Most of these factories are set away from settlements. They’re almost always connected to the mines, so they tend to be secluded. However, we found in these sparse homefronts, death. Children dropping dead in broad daylight, grandparents at night in their beds! This was before the Gargeid Process was completely extinct on Voestra Prime, decades ago. When we studied factories that still employed the Gargeid Process, we found nothing.”

“We did not know why the Vinkol-Ettils Method seemed to kill people, just that the Gargeid Process did not. All of our attempts at scientific study proved fruitless. I do not know why; perhaps our technology was not advanced enough to detect the reason. I was not the only person that saw this happening, but I was the only one on the legislative level to try and stop it… but the Independents were fighting a war. More Independent Voestrei have died this year (during a ceasefire!) than those in all the factories we investigated.”

McCoy wore a strange expression. “So you just let them keep dying?”

“I have made more progress on Alle than I ever would have on Voestra Prime. For example: I have put in place regulations that make the construction of any new facility capable of employing the Vinkol-Ettils Method impossible, I have poured resources into the improvement of the Gargeid Process and into medical treatment for mining communities, and  _ I have not been killed yet _ .”

Spock stopped pacing mid-stride. McCoy’s eyes went round. “So _ you _ suspect Mr. Bartichs was assassinated?” Spock inferred.

Her eyes narrowed as she answered, “As soon as they told me he was dead, I knew.”

McCoy found Spock’s gaze and they shared a thoughtful frown. “Did he ever say what he was working on?” McCoy asked. 

“Had he contacted you about your work before?”

“I told you the truth this morning, Commander, I had not had any communication with Bartichs for over three years. But… he had been trying to get me to read something over, since I arrived on Voestra Prime,” she admitted with a hard swallow. 

“Could this be it?” McCoy changed the image on the screen to the handwritten document Jim and Satarov had found. The translation was displayed on the side of the screen, but Uhura’s program had not been able to interpret some of the representative’s handwriting, so it was incomplete.

Izire’s lips trembled as she read under her breath. “We, the representatives of the Delegation of Independent Voestrei entrusted with the certification of our secession from the Voes Empire… out of an obligation to our newly freed people… innately Voestrite instinct toward compassion… do refuse to sign the Treaty of Scravvel and to initialize membership into the United Federation of Planets as outlined in the document… until the complete prohibition of the Vinkol-Ettils Extraction Method across all eight Independents…” Izire scanned the rest of the page and when she was finished sat stunned. “I dont… I didn’t know.”

“We believe he boarded the  _ Enterprise _ with a digital copy for you and the other representatives to endorse as signatories, but it was stolen or destroyed upon his death.”

All of the alluring grace of Izire’s usual manner had fallen away as she stared at the document in resignation. McCoy leaned forward, reaching across the desk, but she did not acknowledge his attempt at comfort. “I wish I had the excuse of ignorance in this,” she said finally.

“He was trying to save lives, and so were you!” McCoy argued.

Izire bowed her head. “Save who? And how? These questions still have no answers.”

“Well, that’s where we can help.” She looked up at the doctor sharply and McCoy jumped out of his seat. From his computer terminal, he had projected the three encephalographs from that day onto the screen: post-mortem Bartichs’, Spock’s, and Leo’s, much smaller than the others.

For the third time that day, but with no less enthusiasm and showmanship, the doctor explained: “Bartichs wasn’t killed by Brizud’s assassination attempt. He died the same way those factory workers died: an embolic stroke caused by an overdose of adrenaline. Why him?” He pointed to the bright mass on Bartichs’ scan. “This little beauty right here. It’s called a paracortex. From what we’ve been able to determine, whatever is attacking those workers, only affects this. And it’s the  _ paracortex  _ that triggers these nightmares that then induce the production of adrenaline, but not everyone has it. By my best estimation, Mr. Bartichs was one of a  _ tiny _ percentage of the Voestrei population that have a paracortex!”

Izire had no reaction, besides her confusion, to the question which had the doctor bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“He was telepathic,” Spock supplemented.

Izire’s brow wrinkled, then she frowned, then she held her chin. “But how… How could there be  _ telepathic _ Voestrei? How could no one have known?”

“Easily,” Spock said to her obvious dissatisfaction. He clarified: “If Mr. Bartichs’ brain represents the average paracortex in adult Voestrei with this mutation, and comparing that to the average size and development of other telepathic humanoids, his paracortex is extremely underdeveloped. Any psychic abilities would manifest so subtly it would be undetectable even to himself. Perhaps dismissed as intuition, an uncommon proficiency interpreting facial expressions, to manipulate.”

“He was well liked,” Izire said hollowly. 

“Even we’d never have known it if the same thing hadn’t happened to Mr. Spock, here, and another resident of this ship.” McCoy pointed at the other two encephalographs, and Izire stared back at Spock, mouth hanging open.

“But you… And the child! On the observation deck!” she pointed to Leo’s scan, her voice rising in panic. 

Spock nodded. “She is my daughter.” 

During the moment it took Izire to digest this information, Spock could appreciate the first time he admitted that fact. 

“Is she alright?” Izire rushed to ask.

Spock nodded again. “She is safe, due to multiple factors: first, our tolerance to adrenaline is higher than that of the Voestrei. Second, our paracortexes are far more evolutionarily complex, our species have possessed paracortexes for millenia. Third, I was rigorously trained in childhood to protect my consciousness. My daughter is receiving a similar instruction.”

Izire closed her eyes in relief. “I am glad… I cannot believe it! He was a victim himself…”

McCoy had quietly turned off the screen and retreated to his desk again. “You know what this means?” he asked Spock and Izire. “We can’t leave without doing anything.”

Spock sighed. “Indeed.”

Izire looked between them. “What could you possibly do?”

“We should have a sample of molybdenite in Geology’s stores.” In the documents the away team sent, Spock had seen several diagrams and manuals detailing the Vinkol-Ettils Method. “We shall try to replicate the method and examine all the products.”

“But Spock—”

“I will remain a safe distance away.”

McCoy scowled but let it go and turned back to the representative. “Then I find myself in need of a control subject for my study of abnormal Voestrite psychology. Ms. Izire, anyone ever tell you you’re completely normal?”

~~~

While the  _ Enterprise  _ was in the process of closing all the vents and returning the ship to full life support, Spock used Dr. McCoy’s terminal to create a program for Geology to simulate the Vinkol-Ettils Method. Just before sending it, the comm panel on McCoy’s desk alerted him that the shuttle had arrived and the away team, “a wee worse for wear,” Scotty noted, was on their way to sickbay. 

Spock sent the program and was on his way to warn the doctor when the away team arrived, indeed, “worse for wear,” for the doctor to see for himself. 

“Jesus, Jim,” he heard the doctor mutter, rushing over with a tricorder already whirring.

Spock surveyed Jim. He was alive; the importance of that fact seemed to have increased exponentially since that morning. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair hung into his eyes, one of which was developing a bruise. A tear in his shirt revealed a bloody gash on his shoulder blade when he turned. Chekov was slung between him and Satarov, favoring his left foot, neither of them were in any better condition. Satarov’s sleeve was torn at the shoulder revealing a neatly dressed wound of her own.

“Nice work there, Lieutenant,” McCoy nodded to her arm.

“Thanks, Doc. Those new med kits in the shuttles are top notch.”

“You couldn’t spare anything for the captain, here?”

“You try to get him to sit still.”

“You’d think I’d given up by now.”

She laughed as she accepted Chekov’s weight and walked him over to a biobed and then limped to her own. Jim suffered McCoy’s fussing when he saw Spock watching. 

“Nasty souvenirs you got there, slugger,” McCoy said, grimacing at the gash.

Jim flicked an almost bashful look at Spock before replying, “We left some mementos of our own.”

McCoy snorted. “Well, this one’s deeper than my regenerator can fix, I’ll have to dress it.”

Jim shrugged then winced.

“They were not so pleased when we wanted to leave,” Chekov explained from two beds over. “Well, not after they saw the Captain with those fancy rocks.”

“ _ You  _ let them in too early,” Satarov snapped.

Chekov shrugged. “So they did not like my conversation.”

“That’s enough,” Jim declared. “Besides, the whole shuttle ride, I was catching up on all the docs we sent up from Bartichs’ office. Couldn’t let a little papercut like this distract me.”

Perhaps it had been the sound of his voice, or the connection that bound them that alerted her to Jim’s return, because at that moment, Leo appeared sprinting out of the private room and across sickbay to Jim’s arms. “Daddy!” she cried.

Spock saw Jim’s face split into a genuine grin before it was obscured by Leo’s mass of curly brown hair. He lifted her up with a groan a little more real than his regularly theatrical performance. “Hey!” he said weakly. 

“We watched the lights and then I learned  _ tun-esta  _ and  _ sa’mekh _ …”

Yeah, all that?” Jim replied vaguely. He smoothed down Leo’s hair and found Spock’s gaze again.

Spock tried to formulate the correct thing to say when Leo peered over Jim’s shoulder and prodded at the gash on his back. They shared an identical wince of pain. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Jim smiled and kissed her forehead. “That’s okay. Now I gotta let Uncle Bones (McCoy rolled his eyes next to Jim) patch me up.” He put her down and let the doctor guide him to the bed. Dr. Ruan was assessing Chekov’s ankle while Nurse Krecji gave Satarov a cooling pack.

Nida caught up to Leo, and after briefly coaxing her to return with her teacher, Spock followed Jim. “Wanna tell me what my kid is doing in sickbay?” Jim asked McCoy quietly. 

“It’s a long story. Will you sit?” He goaded.

“Bones, are you going to answer me?”

“Sit down and we’ll find out.”

Jim did, but looked over McCoy’s shoulder to find Spock. “Spock?” he asked. “What’s going on?” He accepted another cooling pack from the nurse and pressed it under his eye.

“We are safe, our presence in sickbay is only a precaution.”

“Lean forward,” McCoy said, he swabbed astringent on the wound, making Jim wince again.

“Against what?”

Spock looked at McCoy and McCoy looked back. “Well…”

“It is probable that whatever Mr. Bartichs suffered also affected Leo and I.” Spock interrupted McCoy to give Jim an efficient and clinical summary of his and Leo’s experiences as well as Izire’s recent revelations.

Jim was frowning as he finished. He looked rather like Amanda had looked when the child Spock told her of the fight; with a hard stare and pinched lips, Spock could not help but draw the comparison. “As I said, from Ms. Izire’s information, we have concluded that our episodes were induced by an inhalant released into the atmosphere during the Vinkol-Ettils extraction process. Without any further exposure, we are no longer in danger.”

Jim looked doubtful.

“From the unknown gas,” Spock amended.

“There,” McCoy said. He had just finished affixing the bandage to Jim’s wound.

Jim flexed his shoulder, grimaced, and thanked him as he went to the next bed. 

Jim had set down the cooling pack and twisted to prod at the doctor’s handiwork. Silently, Spock took up the pack and raised it to Jim’s face. In a shared glance, Spock asked permission and Jim granted it, and Spock pressed the pack gently to the swelling bruise under his eye.

They did not touch, not really. Spock had one hand on the pack and the other on Jim’s sleeve, and Jim stabilized himself with his hands on the mattress. They kept their thoughts to themselves.

For a moment, Jim’s eyes slid closed, but his expression was still fraught. Spock had never taken the time to examine whether it was a human or Vulcan impulse that always tempted him to ease his mate’s distress. All he knew was that it was an ancient, primal instinct buried in the long memory of his genetic code.

His other hand, warm, rose to touch the other side of Jim’s face, trying to relax the muscles as if it had the authority. Only brushing over his temple, Spock could feel a squall of emotion tangling inside his husband. His first instinct was to alleviate, but Jim’s grip, on both his wrists, stopped him. Jim pulled Spock’s hands away. “It was getting cold,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Spock returned the cooling pack to the mattress. “After this, I must discuss a matter pertinent to our family and my career with you.” Spock came to the decision quietly.

Jim’s eyebrows rose and through the contact on his wrists, Spock could sense the surprise, but it was mitigated within a second. Jim nodded. “Okay.”

As the word hung in the air, Dr. Kibir burst out from her office, Izire trailing behind, looking bemused as the rest of sickbay when the doctor announced proudly. “We got it! Geology’s just sent up the results!” Dr. Kibir announced to sickbay with triumph.

McCoy looked up from tending Satarov’s phaser burn and found Spock looking back. “That must’ve been one hell of a simulation you cooked up,” he said drily.

“Do not strain yourself with the shock,” Spock replied, making Jim grin in front of him.

Jim let go of Spock and jumped off the biobed. With a resolution in sight, Jim’s energy was renewed. “Briefing room,” he said, looking every inch an admirable Starfleet captain. “Five minutes.”

~~~

As it was that morning, the  _ Enterprise _ ’s briefing room was populated by senior officers. Nyota, Sulu, and Scott had made it from the bridge before the crew in sickbay, clustered by the door waiting for answers when Jim strode in first (still wearing his ruined shirt that revealed the freshly dressed wound on his shoulder blade) with Spock following behind. Jim stood at the head of the table as the doctors McCoy and Kibir filed in. Chekov and Satarov stayed back in sickbay, but they were joined by Representative Izire, looking grave. 

“Alright, everyone, let’s establish the facts so we can save some time on paperwork,” Jim announced when they had settled, beginning to record a mission log. “Mr. Spock?”

“This morning, at approximately 04:00, Representative Bartichs of Voestra Prime was found dead by  _ Enterprise _ security officers after he did not respond to comm alerts from Representative Izire of Alle. His time of death was estimated at 03:00. During a preliminary investigation lead by Captain James T. Kirk and Chief Security Officer Kanykei Satarov, they believed Mr. Bartichs had been murdered and suspected the delegation aide Mr. Brizud, who had transported down to the surface of the planet. Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Commander Satarov, and Lieutenant Pavel Chekov pursued by shuttle to conduct a further investigation on the surface of Voestra Prime. 

“After examining the body of Mr. Bartichs, Chief Medical Officer Leonard H. McCoy confirmed that Mr. Brizud had intended to murder Mr. Bartichs, but that the neurotoxin present in Mr. Bartichs’ system was not the cause of death, but that Mr. Bartichs died of an apparent embolic stroke.”

Spock looked to McCoy for approval of his account and the doctor nodded. 

“Upon further  _ research _ ,” Spock said with a raised eyebrow to convey the dubiousness of the term, “Dr. McCoy and Dr. Diazrid Kibir located the site of the embolism in Mr. Bartichs’ paracortex, a new discovery to both the Voestrei and the Federation. Report to follow.”

“Dr. Kibir,” Jim cued.

“Summarized: the extraction of rhenium from molybdenite through what is known as the Vinkol-Ettils Method invented and utilized by the Voestrei, produces a heretofore unknown gaseous compound during the purification stage. When released into the atmosphere, the V.E.M. compound contains a toxin potentially fatal to psychic humanoids if inhaled over long periods of time. Mr. Bartichs is considered to be a victim of over-exposure to this compound; specifically when the  _ Enterprise  _ passed over a rhenium factory, where there was an above-average concentration of the V.E.M. compound, six minutes before his death at 02:40.” she reported.

Spock was reminded of the security footage. At 02:34, Kibir’s proposed time of ingestion, Jim had just entered the frame, his back to the camera, only his head visible. Spock remembered how he had frozen and how some hours ago, Dr. McCoy noted the strange unnatural stillness of the Jim on the tape. Earlier, when his own cognition had been compromised (this too he attributed to the V.E.M. compound), Spock had dismissed McCoy’s observation, suggesting that Jim was on the lookout before approaching Bartichs’ suite. Spock shuddered at his own obtuseness. 

Jim had frozen because at precisely the same moment that Bartichs inhaled the fatal compound and entered his last words into the translator, Leona was having a nightmare. Unmatured and unprotected, her paracortex created another of the nightmares that plagued her, and while she was terrorized, Jim was incapacitated.

Spock and Kibir turned to Jim, who added, “Based on the circumstantial evidence catalogued by Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock, as well as the documents gathered by the away team, I recommend to the Federation, further investigation into the attempted assassination of Representative Bartichs of Voestra Prime by Mr. Brizud and endorsed by the government of Voestra Prime. The discoveries of Dr. Kibir and the  _ Enterprise _ ’s Geology team compel me also to recommend an investigation into the operating government of the Delegation of Voestrei Independents to determine the extent of their knowledge relating to the dangers of the V.E.M. compound.” He finished the recording and looked around the room. “Nicely done but it’s not over yet. We need to know whether the government of Voestra Prime purposefully suppressed Mr. Bartichs’ and previously, Ms. Izire’s, work.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but it has. From what I saw of the documents you recovered from Mr. Bartichs’ office. He has been able to pursue the matter far deeper than I. He looked into the history of every Independent and some of the Empire colonies as well. Every place the Vinkol-Ettils Method is used is marked by the same pattern of irregular deaths. This cannot be accidental, and if Mr. Bartichs was able to compile all of that information within the last ten years since he began his political career, neither can it have gone totally unnoticed for decades.”

“Izire, we don’t have any proof,” Dr. Mccoy said quickly. 

She scrolled through the documents on the PADD furiously. “I could find it. Bartichs has already done most of the work for me!”

“Izire,” McCoy said softly. 

She looked at him questioningly. 

McCoy pointed to Jim, but it was Spock who answered from his seat, “If you were to discover proof of negligence, the Federation would be forced to revoke its offer of membership until such a time that the danger to the Voestrei is negated.”

Izire’s eyes widened and her lips thinned. “No. That is not acceptable.”

“That’s not really up for debate,” Jim said.

“Captain, we have fought for over one hundred years!”

“I’m sorry, but the Prime Directive doesn’t work that way.”

“We are in danger! This is why the Independents applied for membership anyway!”

“Look, this is what your guy, Bartichs, wanted. Didn’t you read his resolution? He knew that none of your planets could enter the Federation with a clear conscience. It’s no wonder he was killed.”

Izire’s lustery gray skin paled, her mercury eyes widened as she hunched over the table.

“Jim,” McCoy snapped.

Jim exhaled and nodded. From where he sat, Spock saw a flush of red shame creep up his neck. “Apologies, Representative.”

“I doubt the  _ Enterprise _ will be taking us to Scravvel,” she decided, sitting back down, “what with the conspiracy of Bartichs’ murder and all. So, if the Federation should also take the time to evaluate our mining practices, I will, on Alle at least, make accommodations.”

When Jim dismissed them, Spock, despite his brief meditations that afternoon, would perhaps describe his head as “spinning.”

He waited for everyone to file out to leave his chair, noticing Jim lingering by the door, glancing at him expectantly. With a jerk of his head, Jim left the room and Spock followed, silently, to the turbolift. 

They entered an empty turbolift and Spock suspected Jim waited to ensure they would have the opportunity to speak alone. 

“Deck two,” Jim ordered, leaning his good shoulder against the wall. 

“Bridge,” Spock added. “Where are you going?”

Jim crossed his arms, alternately looking at Spock and to some place vaguely to his left. “First I’m going back to change my shirt so I don’t look like January in the Fleet pinup when I go up to the bridge and get ahold of one of the brass to let them know we aren’t going to the treaty signing. Then, after I get an earful, I’m going to pick up Leo because she’s still mad I brushed her off in sickbay.” Jim tapped his temple to allude to their connection. “And  _ then _ we are both going to sleep for,  _ dear God I hope _ , the next twelve hours. If you care to join us.”

“I will carry out my duty on the bridge, but then I will return,” Spock replied.

Jim’s lips spread into a grin. “I guess it was a crazy day for you too?”

And he did not yet know the extent of it, Spock noted to himself. “Jim…”

Jim’s expression faltered. “Right, you said you needed to talk.”

Spock’s eyebrows raised. “It does not have to be now.”

“Well, come on. What is it?”

“It will keep.” Spock folded his hands in front of him, a move and phrase that reminded him, strangely, of his mother.

Jim rolled his eyes, “Spock.”

“For fifty-eight days, I have neglected to tell you that a condition of Leona’s residence of the  _ Enterprise _ was that I am obliged to accept the next transfer I am offered.”

Jim’s eyes widened so that his hazel iris was completely surrounded by white. “Oh.”

“As you may recall, I have been previously offered command of a vessel--”

“Yeah, like twice.”

“Three times since you took command of the  _ Enterprise _ . Once at the end of our first mission, once before embarking on this one, and once, last year, when the  _ Caligua _ suffered a vacancy. There was also once before when I was the first officer of Christopher Pike.” Spock counted them on his fingers.

“Right,” Jim nodded, seemingly nonplussed, but Spock observed how Jim hunched over his crossed arms despite the strain the position must have put on his shoulder, to close himself off the way humans felt it was necessary to. And, Spock inferred, to reduce the possibility of any accidental contact that might allow him to see Jim’s mind.

“I felt that I should make you aware sooner, but I was… unsure how you would react,” Spock lied. 

“Have you gotten any offers yet?”

“No.”

“Then why did you tell me now?” 

“I don’t—“

“It doesn’t matter, we don’t have to think about it now.”

“Yes, but as my captain and my husband, you should know.”

“And I do now, so thanks.”

“Jim.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face and pinched his nose. “Look. I’m tired, Leo’s tired. I’m not--”

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t, just please… okay? We don’t even have to talk about this now.” The turbolift doors opened again and Jim left Spock to make the rest of the journey alone. 

Spock both wished the ride had been longer (perhaps he might have explained it better) and shorter (so the subject would have never come up), and recognized the nonsense of wishing a machine to work at a rate of one’s interpersonal conflict. However, in the great illogical irony of a poorly-timed turbolift ride, Spock learned that a sudden,violent catastrophe was not the only way he feared losing his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for all the pesky plot heaviness here
> 
> Thanks to Memories Alpha and Beta and Fantasy Name Generator, as well as to the Wikipedia page on rhenium. And most importantly to my reader andydear.
> 
> Our final chapter: “Never Parted” will be posted on Thursday, October 22 where I’ll also include notes on what I’m planning for the future of this series, so please subscribe to this story and to the series to stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. “Never Parted”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With no treaty and no guarantee of independence, the Voestrei delegation departs.

From the command chair, Spock saw Jim twice more before he completed his bridge duty: once, entering his ready room through the bridge and the other, exiting it fifty-six minutes later. Upon his exit, he looked, if possible, even more exhausted than before. He thanked everyone on the bridge for their patience and professionalism through the ship’s latest ordeal, but the words, though genuine, felt rebellious and directed toward the admiral that could not hear them. 

Jim paused by Spock’s side to ask for an update on the heading. As Spock recited the information automatically, Jim’s hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Alright,” Jim said quietly, with a squeeze. “Don’t stay up here too late.”

Spock did not intend to, but as the shift ended, he did not go directly to their cabin either, but instead, found himself intent on returning to sickbay one more time that day. 

He was unsure whether his decision was made out of the imperative need for information (the most logical of assessments) or to decrease the probability of having to continue his discussion with Jim, who would most likely (hopefully) be deep into sleep by now. 

Though Dr. Kibir and McCoy’s shifts had also ended, Spock found them in McCoy’s office with Izire of Alle, still pouring through the discoveries of that day, and trying to accurately estimate the full ramifications of them. And without end in sight, judging by the fully stocked coffee service by the door. 

“You just missed Jim,” McCoy said when they noticed Spock in the doorway.

“Leo?” Spock asked. 

“Yeah, he just picked her up.”

“She’s doing great now,” Kibir added. “Nida’s been a real help.”

Spock nodded.

“So has Izire,” McCoy said. 

The representative smiled from her seat behind McCoy’s desk, where she was organizing the results of the doctors’ unofficial study of the Voestrei psyche. “When you’ve been with one doctor for forty years and raised two more, you learn how to make yourself useful.”

McCoy snorted. “You could say that again.”

“Commander, I did not know you and the captain were together,” Izire said lightly, taking off her glasses. “If I had, I’d been nicer.”

“That is unnecessary, I did not take offense.” Though, he realized, Jim might have.

“They just don’t like to brag,” McCoy teased. “What brings you down here to us sorry saps of workaholics anyway?”

“I had hoped to speak to Dr. Kibir. It will not take long, approximately three minutes.”

Kibir nodded and stood. “We’ll go to my office.”

“What can I do for you, Commander?” she asked, offering him a seat when they arrived, which he refused. 

“Leona could only have been exposed to the V.E.M. compound for less than forty-eight hours; from the  _ Enterprise _ entering Voestra Prime’s atmosphere yesterday morning until this afternoon.”

“Yes, same as you.”

“Yet she has been experiencing an increase of nightmarish episodes for two weeks.”

The doctor nodded. “I remember you saying so yesterday.”

“Then…”

“Then, while the V.E.M. compound had a marked effect on her psyche, it only exacerbated an extant condition.”

He nodded, once. His mouth set in a grim line. It was exactly the answer he had come to himself, but he did not want to believe.

“For a victim of trauma, especially the kind Leo has experienced, she has made remarkable strides in her recovery. But then again, it is still so early in the process. There will be setbacks. You said, before, that you observed the frequency of her nightmares decline on Earth? It could be that returning to the ship has reminded her of the circumstances which brought her here in the first place.” 

“But Jim and I must be here.”

Kibir tried to smile sympathetically in response to his illogic. “She will not always associate every spacecraft with the satellite. Or, perhaps, later on, her anxiety will manifest in other, more manageable ways.” 

Spock sank into the plush chair behind him and considered this equally promising and threatening notion with his fingers steepled in front of him.

“She really is okay, you know. I wouldn’t have said so if she wasn’t.” She sat up stiffly and he suspected that she was holding something back, but her staid manner was difficult to dissect.

“I do not question your medical opinion--”

“It’s alright for you to be worried,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’d encourage it:  _ Be worried _ .” She sat down in the chair next to his and reached out to touch the arm of it.

“I’d hate to prescribe emotionalism to a follower of Surak, but really, it helps if you are, or look like you are, so that she knows you are paying attention, because she can’t read you the same way she does everyone else.” Kibir shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m not a parent, but today, she kept asking for you, so you must be doing something right.”

Spock folded his hands in his lap and examined them as he spoke. “I lost control of my mind in a way I never have before. No matter how violent the episode I suffered felt, my barriers were not defeated as much as… surrendered.” He spoke slowly and heavily as he stared at one thumb crossed over the other. “While she was recovering from her own episode, she pushed herself into my mind… I realize my barriers were weakened at the time. But when she left, that is when I was overtaken by the compound.”

“Really?” Kibir’s eyes lit at the notion.

He nodded solemnly. “Was she… protecting me?” the notion sounded incredible as he said it, she was a child, but Diazrid only shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she replied, “but come back the day after tomorrow, when I’ve had a chance to dissect it, and we’ll see what answer I can give you then.” She paused and studied him.

“She may have sensed your distress at least. Did it upset you?” she asked carefully.

Spock shook his head decisively. “It was just unusual. I felt like it might be similar to what Jim experiences. It was… strange to be attached.” He stood and she followed suit, but neither moved.

“Strange? It makes sense and to me, it’s the most natural thing in the universe: two minds seeking to understand each other. It is the history of all life in the universe, to find each other. Is that not similar to your own bond with your husband?”

Spock had to agree.

With some other words of encouragement, Spock prepared to leave. “About tomorrow, may I bring my husband as well? He has been meaning to return for a session.” It was not technically a lie.

The corner of Kibir’s lip quirked upward. “Sure. We’ll make it a party.”

Spock scheduled an appointment. Spock left sickbay for his quarters feeling much more at peace than he had all day. 

When he returned to their cabin, the living area was empty and all the lights were off except for Leo’s bedroom, from which a dim light spilled out from under the door. As much as he anticipated (and hoped that) both his husband and daughter would be asleep by the time he came home, he was not surprised to find Leo still awake, struggling through a page of the “silly bear” book on her own, leaning against Jim, who was sprawled out on the side of her bed, snoring. A cooling pack for his bruised eye was discarded on the ledge beside her bed. They were both in their pajamas and it appeared Jim had taken the time to braid Leo’s hair before retiring. 

She looked up when he came in with round eyes and a creeping blush from being caught still awake. Spock only raised an eyebrow. 

She stifled her nervous giggle with her hand.

“You should not be awake,” he said from the doorway.

“I’m not sleepy,” she protested, and Spock wondered how many times they would have this conversation. 

He approached the bed and held out his hand. Reluctantly, she positioned the ribbon bookmark, and gave the book to him. Spock returned it to the bookshelf, beside, he noted, a small silvery, crystalline rock, perhaps the newest artifact for her collection. When he turned around, Leo was under the blanket, fighting for space with Jim, who was slowly taking over the whole bed in sleep. 

Spock was about to take hold of his shoulder, to wake him, when Leo reached over and grabbed his wrist. “No, don’t!  _ He _ was sleepy,” she explained in a whisper. 

“He will sleep just as well next door.”

“ _ Please _ ,” she pleaded with round black eyes.

Spock sighed, acknowledging that if he did bring Jim to their own bedroom, it was highly likely that Leo would follow anyway. “For tonight,” he allowed.

Her expression split into a wide grin and she shimmied back under the covers, burrowing into Jim’s side already. “Goodnight,” she sighed.

Spock felt himself suppress his own, fond smile as he ordered the lights off. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and on the bed, he saw Leo’s outline poke her head up and look around. “Spock?” she whispered. 

“I am here,” he replied. 

“If I have a bad dream tonight, will you come find me like Dad?”

“I will not know. You and Jim will have to come and tell me.”

Her shoulders hunched in disappointment.

“Which you may do,” he added gently.

Jim’s snores quieted, long enough for him to hear Leo half-whisper in the momentary silence. “Were you scared when you… when it…” 

Leo was sitting again, but even his superior eyesight could not make out her expression in the dark, and ordering the lights on, while logical, seemed unnecessarily invasive.

“When the V.E.M. compound affected my paracortex to trigger a fearful response?” Spock asked. He was sure that Jim had explained it to her if Miss Abbassi or Dr. Kibir had not, but he had the impulse to reinforce the medical nature of the predicament, because the emotional implications were too difficult to abstract.

He saw her head nod, the braid bounced on her shoulder.

“Yes. I was,” he said quietly. “Were you?”

She nodded again, then paused. “What was your nightmare?” she asked, as if unsure she was allowed.

“I dreamed that I had lost things, people, I cared about.”

“Us?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… Do you get it a lot? Like the dark place?”

“No.”

“But is it really scary?”

“Momentarily,” he lied, remembering the nights he encountered a dying or dead Jim in sleep, waking up breathless and panicked and alone (he somehow only suffered these torments when Jim was not there to immediately disprove them). Then there was the fight. On the whole, Spock had refrained from recalling the incident in any great detail, so the visceral experience that afternoon had shocked him more, perhaps, than the threat of violence. 

“You and I have survived every nightmare we have ever had.”

After a moment of contemplation, she gave one, precise nod.

“I was far more concerned witnessing your episode than experiencing my own,” he lied again, feeling an acute and particularly human incompetence. It was not the most dishonest declaration, as in retrospect, Spock was surprised that the terrors the V.E.M. Compound induced had not just replayed the terrifying moment when Leo was crying and he stood still. He was grateful, at least, that he could make such dubious statements to her and not be caught when her eyes, slightly luminous in the dark, at least to his, went round at the admission.

“Really?”

“Though neither are experiences I would like to repeat.”

“Yeah…”

In a shadowy movement, he saw her wrestle an arm from the blanket and hold up her hand, fingers spread wide. “Goodnight, Spock” she said again. Her hand remained raised, expectantly, until Spock responded, curling his fingers to meet hers.

_ Children are not to Vulcans what they are to humans or Betazoids _ , he remembered fretting to Jim. To his human half it seemed sometimes that Vulcans regarded the difference between childhood and adulthood as only a matter of height. He was given to wonder, then, if the  _ tun-esta _ was not a reminder of the truth. The child, straining their fingers, is obligated to grow. The adult, bending each joint to achieve the gesture, must assist, adjust, adapt until such a time that neither must strain or bend and their hands may meet as equals.

Looking at his and Leo’s hands, he smiled and thought that even his human mother would find this analysis fanciful and needlessly poetic.

“Goodnight, Leo- _ kan _ ,” he said.

“ _ Sa’mekh _ ,” she replied in her smallest voice. 

After changing out of his uniform and preparing a brief repast, Spock slipped easily into an evening meditation. 

~~~

The next morning, the entire delegation of Voestrei were called to the observation deck for the second morning in a row. 

Jim was nervous. In their cabin, it took him two tries to hook the clasp on his wraparound shirt while he complained of a sore neck from falling asleep on Leo’s bed the night before. Leo was likewise skittish, drumming her fingers on the table top. Spock was able to calm her through a guided meditation while Jim confirmed his orders with Starfleet. 

“This means scrapping three years of negotiations with the Voestra Empire,” Jim muttered as they made their way to the observation deck where the Voestrei waited. He kept combing his hair back with his fingers and his bruised eye, which had purpled in the night, added to the heavy bags that had been forming under each. “I know we’ve been in some real jams before but this is just…no fun.” His voice trailed off when they entered the room. 

The delegation: the remaining seven representatives, their aides, and partners, stared back at them, some accusing, some confused. Izire and her aides sat alone, gravely waiting for the captain to speak.

_ No fun. _ Spock had to agree with the sentiment. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Jim began. “I hate meeting you all like this again,” he said, referring to the previous morning when they had been roused and gathered in the same room to be told of Bartichs’ death.

“Why haven’t we left Voestra Prime?” Representative Duhrer asked. There was a wave of nods endorsing the question.

Jim clapped his hands together. “Right.”

“When can we leave?”

“Immediately, but the  _ Enterprise _ will not be taking you to Scravvel.”

There was a murmur throughout the delegation. “Why not?” 

Jim stood solidly and without changing his tone, raised his voice above the din. “I received orders yesterday evening from Starfleet command on behalf of the United Federation of Planets to return you to Voestra Prime where the governor has arranged for your transportation home.”

“This is outrageous!”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“What about the treaty?”

Jim raised his hands and the group settled begrudgingly. “Due to the circumstances surrounding Representative Bartichs’ death, the Federation has reconsidered its involvement in the treaty.”

“Why?” 

“How could they?”

“There… was evidence uncovered that will disqualify Voestra Prime from Federation membership. Because of this, the Federation feels that they can no longer honor the clause that offered membership to all of your planets; so either the treaty must be rewritten to exclude Federation support or— _ or _ , the entire Delegation of Voestrei Independents must submit to investigation. I’m sorry! That’s all I can say!” He ended nearly shouting to be heard over the growing discontent.

Jim spent the next forty-two minutes fielding questions he could not answer until the most quarrelsome delegates grew frustrated and began to take their leave. Spock watched the Voestrei transform from angry to resigned and grief-stricken by the knowledge that their planets would have to postpone independence indefinitely. By the time the Voestrei began to leave the observation deck in frustration, Jim was leaning against the back of a couch, half sitting, and hunching so Spock could see the outline of his bandage through his shirt. 

Izire was the last to leave. She sent her aides ahead to pack and lingered in her seat, looking out the convex window onto the surface of her former home. The planet beneath them was dark as they sailed through one hemisphere’s clear night, but every so often, the light of the moon was caught in bodies of water and rippled back to them. 

“Representative,” Spock ventured over to her. 

“Captain, you could have apologized more. These are people’s lives. How do you propose we go about telling everyone that some of them are telepaths now? They’ll want answers when it all comes out, and it will come out,” she said, looking past Spock to Jim, but the threat lacked any venom. 

“Yeah, well… that right there was all I’m allowed to say.” Jim said, joining Spock. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Once the Federation sends people—“

“Aren’t you supposed to be the people the Federation sends?” She snorted and turned back to the window. Her tone bit now.

“We should thank you for your help. Mr. Bartichs’ and your work will be honored. No one else will die this way.” Spock said.

Izire sighed.

“If you fear for your return, you may stay on board,” Spock offered. 

She appraised him with her intelligent, metallic eyes. “Why should I be afraid?”

“If the governor of Voestra Prime suspects your role in this, you may be in danger if you return to the planet now.” 

“Then who will guide them? Who will tell them what you cannot? Thank you for your concern, Commander, but I will go all the same.”

Jim and Spock shared a sidelong glance. Jim stepped forward. “We are offering you asylum on a Starfleet vessel until such a time that you can be returned to Alle safely. No one will be able to touch you here.”

“‘Until such a time?’ That hardly sounds expedient. Could you guarantee I would return before your Federation returns with its investigators?”

“I cannot,” Jim admitted.

“Then no. Thank you.”

“Ms. Izire, it is likely that the governor will detain you on Voestra Prime at least,” Spock insisted. 

“I said, ‘thank you, but no.’”

“Why?” Jim asked forcefully. “You won’t be any good to your people in a prison cell.”

“Will I do better from the other side of the universe? No. I will go back and make myself worth the bounty on my head.” 

She stood and walked past them in the direction of the door before turning back. “Mr. Bartichs’ fervor for the work has told me that I am no longer alone. Some of those indecipherable passages that stumped your computer contained names: informants across all eight Independents. I have already sent word of Bartichs’ death to some, especially those on Voestra Prime. I will have friends, and if I am successful, so will your Federation.”

“Your dedication is commendable,” Spock said. Both Jim and Izire looked at Spock oddly, perhaps surprised by the sentimentality imbued in the statement.

She bowed her head. “Thank you. And Mr. Spock, you might like to know I received word that as of yesterday on Alle, I have a grandson.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“He is hours old, yet it seems to matter now that he is proud of me. Perhaps it has made me reckless and brave.”

Spock spared a glance at Jim. “Those qualities are not always inestimable.”

She shrugged. “You may say so at my funeral. Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk, I cannot say it has been a pleasure…”

“Good luck,” Jim said. A small smile tugged at his lips and Spock suspected he was finally growing fond of the representative.

She smiled herself, like a sphinx, and disappeared into the corridor.

~~~

As the delegation departed, the crew of the  _ Enterprise  _ worked with a solemn efficiency. Few people beside the senior officers were aware of the circumstances surrounding Bartichs’ death and the V.E.M. compound, but it was obvious that after stalling in Voestra Prime’s atmosphere thirty hours after their scheduled departure to Scravvel, disembarking the delegation was not a sign of success. 

The dour mood pervaded the ship even after the last party left by transporter pad in the late afternoon. (Beside security officers and the on-duty transporter technicians, Dr. McCoy was the only officer present during the departures, and then only in time to see off Ms. Izire and her aides.)

The bridge was eerily quiet and quick as Jim ordered a new heading to be programmed and Mr. Chekov (his ankle recovered) to engage warp speed.

The  _ Enterprise _ was light years away from Voestra Prime, the Voes System, and the entire Sienna Sector when Spock returned to their cabin that evening.

Jim had made it there before him, only coming from the bridge while Spock had spent the last ninety-two minutes on the geology lab, approving and logging the lab reports from yesterday’s Vinkol-Ettils method experiment. As Spock entered from the corridor, Jim exited their bedroom having changed out of his uniform and into a soft cotton shirt and sweater. Spock noticed that since their return to the  _ Enterprise _ , Jim only wore his uniform when it was necessary to do so. At all other times, he preferred the comfort and informality of civvies.

Jim smiled, the skin around his uninjured eye crinkling, but Spock was distracted by the distinct lack of noise and mess in the cabin.

“Where’s—“

“Nida took her to the arboretum, apparently Sulu volunteered to give a botany lesson off duty.”

“Ah.” 

“So it looks like we have the evening to ourselves,” Jim wiggled his eyebrows and made himself chuckle, but Spock could detect the thready tone to his voice that betrayed Jim’s nervousness. As he walked from the bedroom to behind the desk, Jim gave Spock an unnecessarily wide berth. 

“Yes.” He stayed in front of the door, watching Jim reach up toward the shelves behind the desk, pause, wince, rub his shoulder and reach up with his left hand instead to take their chess set by the spine and pull it down from the shelf. 

“You are ready then, to be beaten?”

Jim flashed him a smile over his shoulder and took the chess set to the table on the other side of the latticed screen. Spock followed, but still kept his distance in accordance to what appeared to be Jim’s wish for space.

“I don’t know. It’s been so long, I thought we could call this one a draw and start a new game.” Without waiting for Spock’s response, he began resetting the pieces one by one. Spock watched him silently. Even through the sweater, Spock could see the outline of the bandage on Jim’s shoulder.. 

“Hon?”

Spock blinked. Jim had stepped away from the board and was talking over his shoulder again.

“Black or white?”

Spock wet his lips and cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better from yesterday?”

“Hunky-dory. Pick a color.”

Spock ventured forward and laid a finger on the translucent black piece nearest to him.

“Again?” Jim asked. Spock shrugged as Jim nodded and sat on the other side of the table. 

“Your move,” Spock said as he sat himself.

Jim stared at the board for a moment before picking up a clear pawn. Moving this pawn two spaces forward was his most common opening move. Spock did not know how to interpret the choice, except to respond with his own favored tactic. They played quietly for fifteen minutes, falling into old habits and playing a game they had most certainly played before. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Jim said suddenly, as if continuing a conversation, “for taking care of everything here while I was gone yesterday. And Leo too.”

Spock brooded over where to move his knight before answering. “It is my duty to the ship and to us,” he replied and he moved the piece. 

Conversation lapsed once more for another round of moves, then Jim spoke again. “When I went to Bones to change my bandages, he told me what happened yesterday, you know, everything about Leo’s episode, your…” his eyes flicked up and Spock remained impassive. “You told me yesterday that you just brought her to sickbay as a precaution.”

“A precaution to prevent it from happening again.”

“Yeah, but you never said that the same thing happened to you.”

Spock eyebrow quirked and he shrugged.

Jim snorted, pausing mid move with a bishop in his hand. “Yeah.” He finished his move and sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. For the first time that evening, Spock felt that Jim was looking at him fully.

Spock made his move, a sacrifice of a rook, but opened the possibility for his pawn to take Jim’s knight. 

“Are  _ you _ okay?” He asked, leaning forward to make his move.

Spock collected Jim’s knight and removed it from the board. “Yes.”

Jim sighed and looked at the board. His fingers drummed the back of his hand. He bit his lip and Spock knew it was not the game he was ruminating on. “I don’t like that I was down there and you guys were in trouble up here.”

Spock pressed his lips together and let Jim speak.

“I mean, that’s the whole reason we decided not to go on away missions together any more.” Jim pondered over a pawn.

“It was,” Spock allowed, making judicious use of one of his own pawns.

“I just don’t like that I can’t…I promised to protect her. And you, in so many words, but if I’m not here… if  _ you’re  _ not here, how can I?” He let the question die in silence before continuing. “You’re going to be really good… at being a captain. If that’s why you didn’t want to tell me?” He glanced up to Spock, but did not let his gaze linger as he made his next move.

“That is not why.” He thought he could see a vulnerability open up for Jim’s queen in four moves.

“Hm…” Jim made another thoughtless move and the weakness was assured. “We could fight it. I’m sure you tried but—“

“No.”

“You wouldn’t have to go if you didn’t want to.”

Spock silently moved a pawn.

Jim paused before making his next move to say. “But if you did. I want you to know that I think you’ll be great.” He raised his eyes from the board and Spock could not escape his focus. “I take it for granted that my first officer is competent to the point of being completely overqualified—”

“I would have been ‘great’ nine years ago when it was first offered to me.” Jim’s last move had left both of his bishops unprotected. Spock analyzed which bishop was best to take out of play, and did so. “Now, when the time comes,” he met Jim’s gaze again, “I will be excellent.”

Jim’s expression broke into a genuine grin. “Damn right.” Instead of taking his next move which would be nothing but a suicide mission anyway, Jim hunched over his elbows and continued to look at Spock, his adoring smile never really fading.

“It’s your turn,” Spock said.

“I’ve missed us.”

Spock folded his hands on the table.

“I love Leo. I love our family. But you and me… I haven’t been paying attention like I should.”

“Jim—“

“I haven’t been paying attention to you—“

“Jim, I have not been made jealous by a  _ child _ —“

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’ve been struggling and I haven’t—“

“I did not ask you to—“

Jim held up his hand to ask Spock to let him finish.

“I guess what I’m trying to say… I’ve been feeling more ‘ _ parted from you _ ’ than ‘ _ never parted _ ,’ lately and it’s probably my fault,” he snorted derisively at himself while he quoted their t’hy’la bond. “I wish I were better at saying what I mean. I mean I guess I don’t blame you for not being able to tell me.”

“Jim—“

“I mean: I’m sorry. For yesterday… everyday.”

Jim’s light eyes were trained on him for his reaction. Spock was never reticent to forgive.

He laid out his arm, palm up beside the chess game. He watched Jim watch him, and his smile settle into something more emotional as he laid his hand on top of Spock’s.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jim said. He lifted Spock’s hand from the tabletop and pressed his lips against the back of his hand, making the the Vulcan blush even in the privacy of their own cabin. “And me  _ and  _ Leo are going to be even more proud of you the first time we see you on your own ship.

“We have both struggled,” Spock said with finality so that Jim would not argue. “But neither of us were under the impression this would be easy.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So?” Jim playful smile lit up the cabin better than sunlight could.

Spock squeezed his husband’s hand and opened their bond through the contact. “Let me help.”

~~~

By the time Leo returned, Spock had Jim soundly beaten. Jim postponed his rematch until after a brief dinner where they heard everything the child remembered about plant germination… twice. (Apparently in twenty-one days, they would be feasting on the lettuce she planted that afternoon.)

After dinner, Leo began the next step of her collection archival and pulled each item from the shelf to be documented in jagged crayon renderings. Jim remained at the table, where he reset their chess board to seek victory. From the floor in front of the sofa, Spock dictated his moves as he assisted Leo’s efforts by creating a technical illustration of a bluejay feather in even strokes of a blue crayon.

Jim won, but Spock cited his distraction as the cause. 

Jim scoffed, but Leo was only too eager to try an experiment on distraction that began with Jim bringing the chess board to the coffee table and ended with a mythology detailing the history of the grudge between black and white. The lustrous chunk of molybdenite sat in the center of the board and served as the catalyst of the war. The pearly shells of San Francisco sided with the clear plasticine pieces and the darker-hued detritus of the Iowan forest with the black. 

By the time they trudged a protesting Leo through her bedtime routine, the whole board was littered with pieces and prizes. Which was how it stayed when Spock returned it to the shelf behind the desk the night, and until Leo took it down the next morning, deciding to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwwww...  
> So, how’d you guys like it?  
> Obligatory thanks to my number one reader, andydear, as well as to the incredible free resources at Memory Alpha, Memory Beta, and the Fantasy Name Generator.
> 
> Regarding the series from here:  
> Right now, I have three more stories and a couple one shots I plan to write immediately, following out little family unit through the rest of their time on the Enterprise. The first I think will be shorter; I’m aiming for 50 pages, so it’s probably going to end up somewhere between 70 and 90. The second will probably be of comparable length to this one.  
> The first two I hope to write in succession during NaNoWriMo this year and the third I hope to write in late spring of 2021.  
> Please subscribe to the series to remain up to date.  
> I would love to interact with more readers on tumblr, so come find me there @fairwellersmustache!  
> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. It means so much that you guys like this story and these characters!
> 
> Please keep in touch ☺️


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